


What Comes After

by ToulouseD



Series: Under the Rubble [3]
Category: Bleach
Genre: After ever After, F/M, Fluff, Foregiveness, Inoue deserves happiness 2K16, Living Together, M/M, Moving Out, Proposals, Wedding, a smidgen of angst, can you imagine?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 22:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7139789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToulouseD/pseuds/ToulouseD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving out, making a life after everything is hard, especially when life insists on happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Comes After

**Author's Note:**

> The last installment of the series. Posted originally on ff.net, with a few alterations and corrections.

Their apartment was small. It was crammed and stuffy, bookshelves almost at every wall, paper and books and kitchenware piled into the spaces. The dining-table, squeezed into the little room surrounded by shelves on three sides and the kitchen on the other, also functioned as their desk. They had four chairs, five if they used the one that served as their nightstand.

The kitchen took up one end of the wall with the balcony doors to the right. It was tiny, white and meant to be efficient. They did not have a dishwasher and the freezer was uncooperative at times, mostly when Ishida wanted nothing more than a Popsicle. Oftentimes the sink would be overflowing with dishes, so when they were down to the last pieces of cutlery and they had had to eat out of the pots themselves, they would wordlessly agree to do the mountain of dishes that had accumulated over the last few days.

Their balcony, too, was little. They could fit exactly two chairs and one load of laundry out there and they had to, since they did not have access to a tumble dryer. They had to reroute the water from their shower to the washing machine when they wanted to wash their clothes, and that also was something they neglected to do until neither had any clean shirts or socks. Their underwear and socks had been mingled into complete confusion by now.

They did not have a living room. They had a TV in the kitchen on one of the many shelves, but static noise was a constant and sometimes the sound would not work at all until the antenna had been wrestled into submission. The gaming console worked perfectly though, and that was the most important. Their bedroom was shoved into the only other room in the apartment, two mattresses on the floor and then that fifth chair as a makeshift table. The closet was filled with clothes and fabric and in a shoebox next to Ishida’s sewing machine they would stash lube and condoms, checking it weekly making sure their supply did not run dry. 

Their bathroom could barely fit two people and Ichigo suspected that the previous tenant had been a single male as they continued to find mysterious and unexplained splotches around the shower. The white tiles would shine harshly, the single bulb in the ceiling filling the room with crisp, white light. The lamp had broken their first week, the shower-curtain proving a challenge to Ichigo. Of course it did not help that Ishida was sitting cross-legged on the toilet commenting in the most unhelpful way possible.

But even though the place was small, it was theirs. It was always warm, always welcoming. Ichigo had long wondered what their apartment would smell like and now he knew. It did not smell like two guys existing in the world’s tiniest apartment, it smelt like two people living with each other and everything that that entailed.

Their apartment had become their preferred hangout spot, because despite it seeming impossible, theirs was the biggest between the seven of them. So they would meet at Ichigo and Ishida’s, everybody bringing something to eat or drink so the two hosts would not have to spend every Yen they had on feeding their guests. They would come over about four times a week, sometimes more, sometimes less, sometimes only half would be there, sometimes they all would insist on staying the night.

When Ichigo first had seen the apartment, he had almost grabbed Ishida’s arm and marched him out then and there, but Ishida had looked around, a strange yet fond expression on his face. And Ichigo loved that look, so he had humored him and stayed for the guided tour of the place and the salesman’s sleek and oily offers and jokes. 

In the train back to Karakura, Ichigo had nudged Ishida and made him look away from the window, “If you want that one, say the word.”

“You hated it,” he had scoffed while smiling and lifted one eyebrow.

“I’m willing to make sacrifices for our love,” he had sighed and put a hand to his heart. Ishida had rolled his eyes good-naturedly and turned to look out the window again.

“I just think it’s the best we’ll find within our price range. It’s close to the metro and the shopping district looked nice.” Ishida had watched his own reflection as he talked. Ichigo had rested his head on his shoulder, feeling Ishida shift to make it more comfortable.

“We’ll call the dude tomorrow.”

And they had called the dude the next day and made an appointment with the agent responsible, going to see it again and before the month had been up, they had officially gotten their first apartment. 

They moved to Tokyo in July during the first heat-wave in ten years. Ichigo had lamented the situation with every piece of furniture he carried, every box he dragged upstairs and every time Keigo would tell him to shut up, drenched in sweat, he could only laugh at their situation. He had cut Ishida’s remarks off by complaining louder.

Ichigo, Keigo and Chad removed their shirts before they started the heavy lifting. Mizuiro waited until the fifth round up and Ishida did not remove anything at all. He remained in his navy tanktop, along with the girls and would from time to time throw a water bottle their way when they took to sitting on whatever they were hauling up the stairs as opposed to moving it. Neither of the three lifted a finger, only agreed that yes, it was inhumanely hot outside.

When the night finally descended upon Tokyo, neon dancing through the air like fairies in an autumn dream, Ishida cracked his back and went to carry the rest upstairs with Tatsuki and Inoue as Ichigo and the rest of them were exhausted and sweaty. And then it hit Ichigo like a shit-ton of bricks that Ishida had waited for the temperature to go down before helping them, because he was smarter than they were.

“You could’ve said something,” Ichigo breathed heavily when Ishida appeared with the first armful of boxes.

Ishida laughed, almost cackling as he went down the stairs again. It echoed up the stairs and Ichigo felt slightly insulted but also very much in love. Between the three of them they moved the rest of the boxes, over half of their collected stuff up the stairs, without hurrying or running and without shedding one drop of sweat.

When they had finished bringing up the boxes Ishida dug out his cellphone and called for pizza, sending the phone around so people could order. Meanwhile, Ishida began unpacking a few of the boxes, moving some around, stacking some on top of others. 

By the time the pizza arrived, Ishida had managed to make a little seating area with chairs and boxes for sitting on and a black garbage bag in the middle.

And even though Ishida had constructed four chairs from boxes that contained clothes and books, there were not enough sitting space as they only had two chairs. Ichigo ended up with Ishida in his lap and could not find it in himself to complain or grunt. They had thrown the balcony doors wide open, letting the night air of Tokyo and heat-waves flood the apartment. Their laughter rung clear out over Tokyo’s skyline shimmering in the back ground. It was 4am before anybody felt the need of going to bed, nobody went though. Keigo declared they would pull an all-nighter and drive in shifts back to Karakura tomorrow.

Ishida and Ichigo were the first to move to Tokyo, but their friends followed them quickly enough.

 

The first sex they had in the apartment had resulted in all their plates breaking and their glasses too. Somehow, they had managed pushing the box that contained it all off the counter and to much chagrin of their neighbors continued fucking each other on the kitchen counter regardless.

Afterwards Ichigo had left Ishida sitting on the counter while the other poured them some juice into the least shattered of the glass. They watched each other while they drank and began smiling more and more until they finally burst out laughing. Ichigo had moved forward and kissed Ishida with so much sun and fire and Ishida had responded in kind. 

When they stopped, they kept smiling as Ichigo began sweeping up the shards of porcelain and glass while Ishida told him about his latest sewing project. As he threw the last piece out, Ishida jumped down from the counter and placed a kiss on his jaw, sauntering through the kitchen, turning around almost innocently, “Finished?” 

The first week they lived together, they drank from measuring cups and ate directly from the pots.

 

“All your kings,” Keigo demanded and Ichigo sighed, handing over the three cards requested.

“I hate this game!” He slapped down his cards, but met next to no reaction from his friends. Chad gave him a short look, but Inoue only rearranged her cards again, Tatsuki used the window-reflection to check out Ichigo’s cards like everybody else had been doing all night and Keigo was putting down another set, flicking his cards and turning to Mizuiro who only smirked back at him. 

Ishida sipped his strawberrymilk and said, “Maybe you should hone your poker skills then.”

“Poker sucks,” Ichigo griped and pressed his lips together, “And so does Go Fish.”

Ishida rolled his eyes and chose that moment to reel in every single one of Keigo’s almost finished sets and proceeded to rob Mizuiro. “Don’t sit by the window then.”

And that was the truth of it really. Whoever got the dreaded window-seat was doomed to lose whatever game they played as everybody else could sneak peak at the cards. Ichigo ended up there more than he cared to admit.

Ishida cleaned house and pulled in the coins they had been using as chips and split them with Ichigo. It was the only prize-money he ever saw during these gatherings. 

“Should we eat?” Tatsuki asked over Keigo and Mizuiro making a scene about Ishida’s unfair victory, surely brought on by his Quincy-powers.

They had pushed the table and the chairs to the side and was sitting on the floor instead. They had tried for months now to fit around the table, to improvise chairs, to sit on each other but nothing so far had worked out until one day Ichigo asked Chad to help him move the table and suddenly room was aplenty.

The floor was set with bowls and bowls of Mexican food, Chad having mastered his cookbook by now and treating them all to the food of his grandfather. Something about the care and small smile he prepared it with always made it the highlight of the evening.

“So any news?” Ishida asked, picking his way through his third fajita, smearing it with salsa and licking his fingers in a way that was not meant to be suggestive, but ended that way none the less.

Mizuiro raised a finger, “I got a new girlfriend.” 

“I believe I said news,” Ishida raised his eyebrows and took another bite. Ichigo snorted but could only agree, really.

“My girlfriend dumped me,” Keigo offered instead, nacho-cheese on his fingers and at the corner of his mouth.

Ishida deadpanned, “It’s like you don’t understand what news means.”

“He does have point,” Tatsuki said through a mouthful of quesadilla, “It’s like a catch and release program.”

Ishida and Inoue rewarded her with audible laughter while Ichigo joined Chad with silent mirth. Keigo and Mizuiro only shook their heads and sighed.

“You don’t understand how demanding our situation is. They’re only in it for our bodies!” Keigo put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, Mizuiro clenching his hand in front of his heart. There was a familiarity with the display that ignited a sense of nostalgia in Ichigo and he saw the others feeling it too.

Because Mizuiro and Keigo went through girlfriends like he and Ishida went through condoms and lube, they never bothered to bring them along to the group outings. Keigo had done it once, but had been dumped the week after. Turned out later that Mizuiro had snatched her right under Keigo’s nose.

Ishida finished his fajita and helped himself to a quesadilla, “Poor babies.”

“We can’t all be in a loving relationship, Ishida-san,” Keigo huffed and sounded a little bitter with it as well. Ishida did not catch that, he merely shrugged and took another bite. He was the only one eating still.

“What is it this month?” Mizuiro asked, moving on from joking on his own behalf. Ishida was a terrible target though, he still reacted with as much enthusiasm as an oyster and usually just shrugged. Ichigo was a lot more fun, the collective opinion seemed to be.

“I read a study suggesting childhood trauma,” Ishida answered easily, brushing his hands off. 

Keigo grinned, “Daddy-issues more like it.”

Ishida did not say a word, he only kept wiping his hands. Ichigo saw the line of his shoulder, the angle of his jaw and immediately turned to Keigo, letting him know he overstepped. But Ishida scoffed, “Probably.”

“Ishida-kun,” Inoue started, but he shook his head and gave her an insincere half-smile.

He stood and picked up his plate, leaving it in the sink. While he put on the kettle, supposedly to make some tea. Inoue caught Ichigo’s eye and conveyed her worries to him. He nodded, agreeing whole heartedly with her.

The mood had taken a strange turn and it was not until Ishida sat down again, stirring his tea, that Keigo spoke again, “Look, Ishida, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You didn’t know.”

Keigo leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, “But I did know.”

“And know you know better.” And with that the conversation ended. 

It restarted slowly after that, everybody needed to resettle into the rhythm again. Chad helped Ichigo clear the floor while Keigo, Inoue and Ishida talked about the latest political scandal currently filling the headlines. Tatsuki and Mizuiro continued talking about the state of Tatsuki’s love-life, of which there was currently none.

Ichigo and Chad talked quietly among themselves about work and school, about Chad’s new apartment and how his new boss had taken a dislike to him because he was part Mexican.

“Blast that sucker away with churros and guitar solos!” Keigo shouted having overheard their conversation. Ichigo smiled and saw Chad do the same. They sat down when the entire floor space was cleaned and Ishida leaned into Ichigo while Mizuiro and Keigo, mature university students that they were, started making gagging-noises and complaining about the gay in the room.

“I’ve been to your place and you’re worse than we’ve ever been,” Ichigo retorted in the middle of Mizuiro stretching across Keigo’s lap, “My point exactly.”

“It’s true,” Inoue giggled and Tatsuki laughed loudly.

“No, no this is a bromance,” Keigo argued and pointed to himself and Mizuiro. He gestured to Ichigo and Ishida, “That is full-blown gay erotica.”

“Do I hear a little jealousy?” Chad inquired, completely stoic as ever.

Keigo’s jaw dropped and Mizuiro bolted upright, both protesting loudly.

“Methinks thou doth protest too much,” Tatsuki leered and chuckled darkly.

“Actually, it would be: The lady doth protest too much, methinks, and on Shakespeare’s time protest didn’t mean object, more like affirm. So when Gertrude says: The lady doth protest too much, methinks, she means she’s too insistent, too elaborate,” Ishida corrected her.

“Yes, I love you Ishida-san!” Keigo clenched his fist in victory while Tatsuki muttered, “Killjoy.”

“When that is said, you’re intended message is very true.”

The rest of the evening was spent shooting holes the size of mill-wheels in Keigo and Mizuiro’s arguments regarding their heterosexuality. When they finally moved on, Ichigo could have sworn he saw the two of them sneak sidelong glances at each other.

He did not mention it to anybody, it could be their secret. 

 

The Medical Faculty had traditions spanning back decades, but none as infamous as the week leading up to New Year’s Eve. Along with their fellow faculty-members, Ichigo, Ishida and Inoue had joined the Medical Faculty’s New Year’s Party and had imbibed enough alcohol to sustain a minor region in Russia. 

Keigo and Mizuiro had tried sneaking their way in, but Poli. Sci. and Journalism were easily spotted in the crowd and they had been carried out while being drenched in vodka. Mizuiro had later remarked he might have gotten drunk of the fumes themselves.

It was the third night in a row and they were all beginning to ponder if signing up for a liver transplant was the most logical next step. The club they had migrated to was dulled with diffused lights and heavy bass thrumming along with their heartbeats. They could feel the bass better than they could hear it.

In honor of the Medical Faculty’s New Year’s Party, the bar served their drinks in beakers, IV bags and syringes, though they had been clever enough to remove all needles that might have been attached. Ichigo, still a lightweight in every sense of the word, had downed two beakers and shared an IV bag with Inoue and another guy from his class and now had trouble speaking in coherent sentences and hold on to thoughts longer than two seconds. 

Somewhere along the line someone had produced a marker and had started tracing different surgical lines on whoever was willing to lay down their body for science. He and Inoue had been among the first, so theirs were extensive and more precise than most. Inoue had the markings for a facelift and a boob-job, which she would sometimes look at and get a little distant with, and Ichigo sported a nose-job and a heart transplant. Inoue laughed as they danced to the bass and he grinned at her, because they both looked spectacularly ridiculous he was sure.

He needed Ishida to confirm that.

Glowsticks were littering the floor, were propped in people’s hair and drinks. They lit up the entire dance floor with surrealism and for someone who already had trouble seeing straight, Ichigo was completely lost in the sea of flashing lights and pounding bass. Someone had gotten their hands on some glow in the dark bodypaint and the mass was writhing in tact with the pulse of the club. There was something almost alien about it.

Inoue followed his look around and put a hand to his cheek, looking into his eyes. She seemed to deem him okay to run off in search of Ishida, because she turned around and found another girl without a partner.

Ichigo stood for a moment, letting the sight of moving neon shapes and light seduce him. He swallowed and licked his lips. A girl grabbed his hands and placed them on her hips, they swayed in time with the rhythm. She looked like a wolf, teeth white and barred. Someone had painted fangs on her cheeks and when she smiled they contorted. 

She seemed to understand she was not exactly his cup of tea, took his hand instead and brought him to the painter who did all the body art instead. The brush caressed his skin and left it incandescent. He had no idea what had happened to his surgery or what the cheeky girl with a septum ring painted on him, it was static noise up and down his arms.

He stood immediately as he saw Ishida. He would have known him anywhere. He was standing by the bar, a dude leaned dangerously close to him, pushing a drink his way. Whatever savior complex Ichigo had decided to bury when they moved to Tokyo was immediately unearthed and he began elbowing his way through the crowd. 

There was a flare of jealousy, of possessiveness and most definitely of anger.

Ishida rolled his shoulders, something in his stance screamed for Ichigo to come as fast as he could. When Ichigo was less than ten feet away, Ishida swirled around and threw his arms around his neck, dragging him close and kissing him, letting his tongue mess up whatever paint Ichigo might have gotten on his face. Ichigo was about to pull back, but Ishida kept him in place, moved his hands to his jaw and licked his lips.

And Ichigo was powerless to deny Ishida anything, so he grabbed his waist instead and drove his point home. Saying that he claimed him was something Ishida would disapprove of thoroughly had either of them been coherent, but Ichigo could not find a better word to suit the action. The beat had him grinding into Ishida who only welcomed the motion.

The club disappeared behind them and Ichigo felt himself drown in Ishida. The other seemed a little more aware of their surroundings as he pushed Ichigo away and instead grabbed his belt loop and led him to a darker, less public part of the club. They knocked over a canister of body paint in their eagerness, spilling it on their hands. Ichigo was hoping it would not become a trend.

Ishida smeared the paint on Ichigo’s cheeks and lips, running his thumb over them and quickly latching on with his mouth, losing them both to the kiss and the deafening music of the club. Ichigo hoisted Ishida up on his hips and Ishida wrapped his legs around him, kissing him until blue was the only color he could see. 

Ichigo was sure someone had shouted something obscene at them, but the music was far too loud for him to hear anything, and he knew Ishida did not give a damn anyway, so he did not bother to stop. Instead he enjoyed the feel of Ishida on his tongue and in his hands.

It was not until Ishida moved away and leaned his head on the wall they had driven themselves into that they paused for breath. Ishida looked at something over Ichigo’s shoulder and shouted something Ichigo could only faintly hear, but judging from his lips, it looked like, “Admission fee’s a 1000.”

Ichigo turned and saw a couple of people quickly, awkwardly turning away. When he looked back Ishida was smirking at him, leaning down and practically licking the shell of his ear and Ichigo knew the party was over then and there and that he needed Ishida back home now. And Ishida seemed to agree with that line of thinking, sliding down Ichigo’s hips and taking his hand, wiping his mouth with the backside of his other, smudging, but not removing the paint there.

Ichigo smiled at him, receiving one in return and then Ishida let them to the men’s room, pushing them both into a stall.

“Think about others, fucking queers!” someone shouted when they closed the door. Ishida looked positively smug as he did the one thing only a drunk Ishida would condone and used Hierenkyaku to fast travel back to their apartment so they could get naked. Ishida was many things and in possession of a lewd and one-tracked mind was definitely one of them. Ichigo was amazed at how well he hid that from their friends during weekdays. 

They were back at their place before Ichigo had time to blink. He sometimes wondered if Ishida prioritized the use of his powers right, but found himself agreeing to whatever purpose it was helping. Ishida was already fumbling with the lock, something Ichigo struggled with no matter if it was night or day. The door opened loudly, smacking into the wall and Ishida dragged Ichigo inside.

The paint was still working its magic, their bodies glowing in the dark hallway and as Ishida turned and began kissing Ichigo again, pushing his clothes off him, Ichigo noticed Ishida, too, had been at the painted and someone had had the privilege of coloring his upper body. He swallowed heavily and began leading them through the tiny hallway to their bedroom.

Letting Ishida fall onto the mattress and dye the sheets with luminance was a sight Ichigo would cherish a long time to come and followed him as gracefully as he could. Ishida had already shimmied out of his underwear and was now pulling at Ichigo’s while he was biting at his shoulder.

Ichigo hurriedly dug out the lube and tore the package open with his teeth, seeing Ishida lick his lips and went to chase that as he lathered his dick up.

“Can I? …” The words died on his tongue when Ishida nodded furiously. 

So Ichigo aligned himself like the stars did every night and moved into Ishida slowly. He could feel Ishida struggling with relaxing, his breath fast and heavy. Ichigo kissed his forehead, pushed as slowly as he possibly could.

And then Ishida broke with a sigh and Ichigo went for his mouth while he grabbed Ishida’s hips and pulled him closer, pulled himself deeper. 

If Ishida was uncomfortable, he did not show. Instead he began kissing Ichigo with filth and determination, as Ichigo was now rooted in Ishida. The paint was smeared all over their bodies, Ishida’s hips shining and Ichigo’s neck and chest covered in faint blushes.

Then he started moving. Ishida gasped loudly but bit down the louder moans, bit them into his lips. 

Everything was muted, their hearing almost seeping out of their ears because of the loud music, but Ichigo heard every breath Ishida took as if they were everything in the world. Ishida reached up and stroked his cheek, wiping away a beat of sweat. 

Ichigo surged down and attacked Ishida’s mouth like a savage and Ishida wrapped his arms around his neck, keeping him close, limiting his movements. 

When they came, both were drenched in sweat as Ishida had forced them to go slow and strained. The color bled into their sheets and Ichigo knew Ishida would groan when he woke at the state of their sheets. Until then, Ichigo slid out and fell to his side, completely spent. Ishida grabbed a t-shirt and used that for emergency clean up and then snuggled closer.

The world had stopped turning for now, the alcohol having subsided with the exertion, but he had an inkling it would happen again tomorrow. Hopefully it would happen again tomorrow.

 

Ichigo was leaning back on the counter, watching Ishida balance on the chair, standing on the backrest and tipping it back on its two hind legs while trying to unscrew a light bulb and replacing it. Ichigo was currently holding the flashlight as the lamp was the only source of light in the kitchen beyond that.

Winter was bleeding out around them but it was still pitch-black outside at seven. They had been eating and discussing their professors and Keigo and Mizuiro’s relationship-status when the light had sighed in defeat and left the room in darkness. 

“Don’t fall,” Ichigo warned for the umpteenth time. Their food was still on the table, though it had most likely gone cold by now.

Ishida was having a personal struggle with the bulb, apparently the guy who had lived here before had screwed it in with so much force that it was neigh impossible to unscrew again. Ishida swore and shook his hand. 

There was a rapt knocking at the door. 

“Should I?” Ichigo asked, mostly because he wanted to see Ishida’s shoulders sag like they did whenever he had been asked an especially dumb question.

They slumped as predicted and Ishida offered, “No, let me.”

Ichigo chuckled and went to the door, but stopped himself as he remembered the flashlight. 

“What about the light?”

“It’s fine,” Ishida said.

Ichigo left him to his balancing and his bulb and went to open the door.

The knocking continued, quite insistent and impatient. Ichigo opened the door, not bothering with the peephole, knowing no salesmen would be roaming their building at this hour. 

The first thing he registered was the fist that hit him hard on the shoulder, the second thing was the petite build of a long-lost but certainly not forgotten Shinigami and the smile that accompanied her.

“You never called, asshole! Why didn’t you call?” Rukia demanded and hit him again for good measure. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to find you?”

“You could’ve called and asked for directions,” he countered and held his hands up for protection.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Rukia broke character and smiled. She peered around him and into the apartment, the kitchen still completely dark, “This is where you live now?”

Ichigo nodded and smiled, “Yeah, it is.”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, take off your shoes.”

It was almost funny seeing how awkward Rukia was, looking around with huge eyes as she tried taking off her boots without losing her balance. She hung her coat on the rack, her eyes darting between the shoes and the jackets and then finally landing on Ichigo. 

He gestured for her to follow him into the kitchen. She lifted an eyebrow, but he just shook his head.

“Ishida?” he called. If Rukia was surprised that Ishida was there, she did not show it, but he supposed the extra pairs of shoes and jackets had given it away, really.

“Who was it?”

“Yeah, about that …”

And suddenly the light came on and Ishida turned his head away, presumably blinded, wobbling a little. Ichigo stepped forward per reflex, arms out ready to catch him, but Ishida regained his footing without his help. Carefully he stepped down from the chair, rubbing his eyes, “Why didn’t we turn off the light switch?”

Before Ichigo could reply, Ishida opened his eyes. They landed on Rukia immediately and his face twitched. He looked between them, pausing on Ichigo but settling on Rukia again.

“Hi, Ishida.”

“Hello.”

Ichigo could almost feel Ishida stepping back, though he had not moved an inch since he had laid eyes on Rukia. He wanted to reach out and take his hand, trying to fuse reassurance and comfort through their fingers, but like Ishida he could not move. Where Ishida’s stillness seemed to be a conscious choice, Ichigo’s was born out of a quiet panic in response to Ishida’s posture and tone.

“I don’t want to impose,” Rukia began, but then Ishida cut her off, a strained quality to his words and voice, something that flowed into his smile, “My words exactly.”

“Ishida,” Ichigo lifted his hand, not sure what he was going to do with it.

Ishida shook his head, “It’s fine. I’m sure you have a few things to discuss.”

He made his way around the both of them, already putting on his navy-coat and putting on boots to combat both snow and February-cold. Before Ichigo even got a chance to protest and stop Ishida from leaving the apartment, Ishida had put on his scarf and his earmuffs, “I’ll be at Inoue’s.”

“Inoue lives half an hour away.”

“So does Asano and Kojima, but that’s never stopped you,” Ishida bit, letting the door shut itself behind him. 

Ichigo sighed and leaned his head on the metal, trying to calm his breathing.

Rukia came up behind him, arms folded across her chest, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think this through.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ichigo sounded dejected even to himself.

He turned and smiled at her, “Joke’s on him, he forgot his keys.”

It faltered though, but only for a second before he got it in place again. It had been a long time since he had needed to put on a fake smile for anybody, it was a strange feeling but almost too easy to get used to again. Ishida would always frown at him when he did.

“Please don’t do that, Ichigo.” Rukia leaned back on the doorframe, “Out of respect for me as your friend, please don’t do that.”

And Ichigo let it drop, let it shatter on the floor, let the pieces jump and roll between them. Rukia smiled then and nodded for him to come back into the kitchen. She sat down and pulled her knees close, “Now, you make us some coffee and tell me everything about your life. We don’t have to talk about the Soul Bond, but I wouldn’t mind if we did.”

He made them coffee and told her about living with Ishida, about school, about their friends, how they were doing. He told her about Mizuiro and Keigo’s inconsistent love-lives, about Chad trying to juggle both a job and school and somehow managing, about Inoue’s last girlfriend and current boyfriend, a guy named Shun, about Tatsuki joining a nearby dojo and getting the 1st kyu brown belt. 

They both picked at the cold left-overs from the dinner, emptying the plates and Ichigo dumped them unceremoniously in the sink, listening to Rukia tell about the latest fight she had been involved in and her daily life as a lieutenant.

Rukia was telling him about Renji’s new tattoo when the door opened and slammed shut again. Ichigo leaned back in his chair, catching a glimpse of Ishida unbuttoning his coat and toeing off his shoes. Rukia pressed her stomach to the table to find out what Ichigo was staring at.

Ichigo frowned, “I thought you were going to Inoue’s.”

“Yeah, funny that,” Ishida said, entering the kitchen and shaking his hair for snow and immediately heading for the sink. He cleaned one of the mugs in there, apparently well-aware that they would have to do the dishes tonight if they wanted cutlery or cups of any kind tomorrow. 

He let himself fall into the chair next to Ichigo and poured himself a steaming cup of coffee. Ichigo and Rukia looked to each other, not quite knowing how to proceed from here. Rukia due to caution, Ichigo because he had never encountered Ishida half-tantrum before. The tip of his nose was pink and his ears scarlet from the cold. He took a sip and shuddered.

“So why aren’t you?” Ichigo dared, reaching forward and feeling cold emanate from his skin. His index-finger only ran an inch down Ishida’s cheek before he removed it.

“Apparently, Inoue-san and Shun are out eating breakfast-for-dinner at Denny’s. This she neglected to tell me until I was actually at the door. Naturally, I thought they’d left the key where it usually is, but to my surprise, she’d given that key to Shun. And then it started snowing on my way home. In all my years of throwing tantrums and making dramatic exits, I’ve never had one backfire like this one.”

Ishida was resting his head on his hand and stirred his coffee idly with his right, the spoon clinking against the cup the only sound in the kitchen.

“You also forgot your keys,” Ichigo added and tried for half-smiling.

“And I also forgot my keys.”

Ichigo tried to contain his smile, failed miserably, then tried to keep in the chuckle, failing that as well, trying to keep it contained to that, but ended up laughing out loud. He could not help himself and every time he looked back at Ishida, he felt a new surged running through him, making him clutch his sides and rest his forehead on the table.

“Please, by all means, laugh, Kurosaki,” Ishida deadpanned and drank a little more coffee, warming his hands on the cup when he did not have it to his lip, “My misery will fuel your mirth, it seems.”

Rukia was pressing her lips together, but ended up giggling as well, having the good grace to cover her mouth. 

By the time Ichigo had any semblance of coherency and Rukia was finished laughing through her hand, Ishida had warmed up and poured himself another cup of cup of coffee, watching them calmly. When Ichigo had finished, he turned his head, still on the table, towards Ishida and smiled at him, receiving a quiet, gently one in return. 

Ichigo was sure that if Keigo had been with them, he would have shouted something obscene about eye-fucking or getting a room. As it was, Rukia only smiled and looked down in her empty cup.

“I’m glad you worked it out,” she said then, looking up. 

Ishida picked up the coffeepot and found it empty, “More coffee?”

Before she could answer, he had gotten up and started measuring out the ground. Rukia quickly looked to Ichigo, wanting to know if she had said something wrong. Ichigo shook his head, trying to placate her.

Ishida had a tendency to be rather mercurial when the Soul Bond was brought up or anything vaguely to do with it. Whether it was a simple anecdote, a joke they had shared then, or someone directly involved, Ishida did not seem to have the same impeccable ability as he did regarding to his life as a Quincy to compartmentalize or at least put on a façade that indicated that he did. With that, Ichigo still only grasped in fractions, in glimpses, how much he had hurt Ishida back then.

Sometimes, Ichigo would wake at night, finding Ishida looking at him, looking at him, but not seeing him. That was when Ichigo sometimes felt his throat close and his chest compress, realizing how much Ishida still thought about it. He tried coaxing him into talking, but Ishida would turn away from him and go distant. It was difficult to gauge if Ishida still held him to it, because Ishida was still not as open with his eyes as he had been before the Soul Bond. 

The coffeemaker was puttering, the water coughing as it was heated. Slowly, Ishida turned, leaning back on the counter and meeting Rukia’s eyes. Ichigo refrained from turning around, feeling this look was not for him but for Rukia and her alone. 

“How was it for you?” Ishida’s voice was curt, measured.

Rukia kept her eyes locked with Ishida’s. Ichigo watched her because he suspected watching Ishida might have his throat constrict and his eyes go heavy, drawn to the floor in avoidance.

“Frightening,” Rukia answered, equally concise. 

“Why?”

She breathed, swallowed. Ichigo wanted to reach across the table and pat her hand, knowing that showing weakness was not something Rukia ever did if she could help it because if she cracked, she would fall apart. Sometimes Ichigo found her to be the bravest person he knew. 

“Because it felt like sitting in the Senzaikyu, waiting to be executed. I was alone despite being bonded to Ichigo, I was unable to reenter Soul Society, to go back home, and all because someone had used my Faux Body against me again. When Ichigo and I ...” she faltered.

“When you kissed?” Ishida filled in, sounding dispassionate to say the least. He sounded utterly disinterested and Ichigo could almost feel how Rukia had to clench her teeth together not to react to his tone of voice. Ishida had an ability to mask every emotion in his voice when he did not want it to shake, something that usually meant sounding condescending. Ichigo knew, but Rukia did not.

“When we kissed,” she met his eyes almost defiantly, “it was like seeing Renji come for me in the 6th Division prison, only to take me to the Senzaikyu. It was such a relief and then so soul-crushingly painful, because it felt like I’d been betrayed and that I had betrayed something in myself.

“It never felt like love, Ishida. It felt like being taken to your own execution by your best friend.”

Ichigo carefully watched Rukia, but knew he could not offer her anything she would need. She seemed confident, calm with her words and Ichigo got the sense that she had given this hours of thought. That she had wanted Ishida to ask her, as much for her own sake as for his.

“Love can feel like that,” Ishida offered then, crossing to the table and pouring her a cup of coffee, “You just have to trust them not to.”

Ishida put the cup down, sat and dug his feet underneath Ichigo’s thighs, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you had to get involved.”

She smiled, took a sip and shook her head, “I needed that.”

They drank their coffee in amiable silence until Rukia almost spluttered hers and pointed to Ishida,” Are you still hunting Hollows?”

Ichigo shook his head, “We barely have time to do the dishes!”

But Ishida shrugged, “Only when they get too close.”

“What?” Ichigo turned to him, eyebrows raised.

“I shoot them from the balcony,” he answered easily and took a sip. Ichigo continued staring at him, “What?”

“You’ve been shooting Hollows from our balcony?”

Ishida lifted an eyebrow, “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you inform me about this? I could’ve helped you.”

“Do you have a bow?”

Ichigo smirked, “I have a sword.”

“You can’t shoot with a sword,” Ishida brushed him off.

Rukia laughed and Ichigo had to admit that his other half had a point. 

“Fine, see if I care,” Ichigo said with no little amount of petulance. 

Ishida turned to him, “Do you want me to tell you next time there’s a Hollow in our kitchen?”

“In our kitchen?!”

The rest of the evening, and most of the night really, consisted mostly of Ishida and Ichigo bickering, drinking coffee, talking about all the dumb things Ichigo had ever done, curtesy of both Rukia and Ishida, and then Ishida smiling softly at him when he would pout in response. 

It was a rosy daybreak before Rukia left them, disappearing into the snow. They did the dishes in silence, Ichigo finally smearing soap bubbles across Ishida’s chin when they finished. Ishida retaliated immediately, duplicating it onto Ichigo’s face.

“I’m glad she found you,” Ishida said then, quietly.

Ichigo kissed Ishida with as much reverence as he could put into a kiss that already tasted too much like coffee and sleepiness, “I’m glad Inoue wasn’t home.”

“She was, but she sent me back when she heard why I’d come.”

“Good going, Inoue.” Ichigo brushed a stray strand of hair out of Ishida’s face, revealing more of his eyes and the blue that rivaled the morning sky outside, “I’m still sorry about …”

Ishida saved him from continuing, “I know.”

Ichigo swallowed and nodded. Ishida did not elaborate and Ichigo knew he could not make him. 

 

Ishida sat at the table, typing rapidly, stopping once in a while, re-reading the past sentence and judging them. Ichigo sat opposite him, watching him, waiting. They both had mid-terms due and Ishida had been hogging the computer for the past three days. To his credit, he seemed to be feeling rather guilty, sometimes shooting Ichigo looks over the screens as he continued to write.

“I’ll be done in a minute. I only need the citations.”

Ichigo sighed and nodded. He was not exactly coveting the computer as that meant his period of procrastination was over. He got up and turned the coffee-machine on, more to do something other than stressing Ishida. He could not help it though, Ishida looked all sorts of delectable when he was concentrated. Even if he was not concentrating on Ichigo, it was still a nice look on him.

“Last one.” Ishida did not even look away as he punched the keys. He would have made an excellent secretary, Ichigo thought. There was a certain decisiveness in the way his fingers hit the keys. Their rhythm completely impossible to decipher to anyone but Ishida.

Ishida leaned back and re-read his last sentence, “Alright, let me print and it’s all yours.”

“What if I don’t want it?” Ichigo asked, a high-quality of petulance gracing his tone. Ishida merely stood and went to the printer and watched his 30 page dissertation be spat out. Their printer was, as everything else in the apartment, moments away from dying on them. However, something about Ishida made all their appliances obey, seemingly fearing him infinitely more than simply keeling over. At least Ichigo would if he was a printer.

Ishida was practically glaring at it now as it coughed up the remaining five pages, sounding like it needed CPR immediately. Ishida snatched the 30 pages and leafed through them, counting them, skimming them for obvious flaws.

He closed down his own document and opened a fresh, clean sheet for Ichigo. “Don’t say I don’t love you,” he said, giving him a look that left no room for misinterpretation. Ichigo was being pitied, but he was not getting out of doing the paper.

With a dignified air of defeat, he sat down and wrote the first part of the header, already hating the computer and the ridiculousness that was university. Ishida had taken his seat and begun correcting his paper with a red pen. Ichigo watched him over the screen, his leg jumping up and down.

“Kurosaki!” Ishida warned and Ichigo went back to looking at the screen, the cursor mocking him, slapping him across the face with every wink. 

He began writing, chopped and cropped. There was no flow to his words, no melody to the characters and Ichigo kept glancing in the lower right corner, hoping time had stopped. Another five minutes passed before Ichigo realized Ishida had been watching him.

“What?”

“You seem unmotivated.” 

Ichigo deadpanned him. He knew Ishida hated that, but at the moment his hatred for the computer and the written word excelled his mindfulness of Ishida’s likes and dislikes. Ishida repaid him in spades though, so Ichigo felt marginally less guilty about it.

“Do you need help?”

Ichigo rolled his eyes, “No.” 

Ishida leaned across the table and glanced at the screen, “What’s the topic?” 

“Pharmaceuticals,” he sighed and let his head fall back. It was arguably the most boring subject they had been through as of yet. He wanted to be a surgeon, but apparently you needed to know your over-the-counter-meds to cut people open, so here he was.

Ishida hummed and finally left his seat, standing over Ichigo, reading the one subpar paragraph he had managed to crank out. There was a faint smile around his lips, widening slightly. “What?”

“It’s just funny.” He erased a few characters and replaced them with another twenty, suddenly making Ichigo’s words sound less bitter and sarcastic and more sobered up. 

“I’m glad you find my suffering amusing.”

Ishida chuckled and corrected another few lines, doing it one-handed like the superior asshole he had gotten over pretending he was and had now embodied completely instead. Ichigo let his head fall to Ishida’s shoulder, “Can’t you just do it?”

“Fuck no, I just wrote my own 30 page death sentence,” he scoffed, but softened, “but I can probably motivate you.”

“Mmm, how’s that?” Ichigo tried, turning in his seat.

Ishida removed his wrist-watch, placing it in front of Ichigo, “Complete a page every 20 minutes and I remove a piece of clothing, fail and remove a piece of your own. Complete a page within ten minutes and I suck you off, how does that sound?”

Ichigo watched him and swallowed, “Doable.”

“Good,” he moved around the table, letting a finger drag across the table top, “Tic toc.”

As Ichigo was struck with the right kind of inspiration, Ishida remained true to his word. He finished his paper within six hours, daylight beginning to float through their almost weightless curtains. He had lost only his t-shirt while Ishida was sitting poised and stark-naked across from him. His throat was probably going to be raw tomorrow, or today – after they had slept, and Ichigo was going to make him tea and soup and whatever he needed for that, because Ishida had, with sly smiles and cunning tongue, managed to coax Ichigo into writing his own doom in less than a night.

Ishida was presently twirling a pen between his fingers, otherwise completely still. Ichigo waited for him to finish looking through his paper, sometimes he would circle entire passages and other times he would write a little checkmark, mostly he remained impassive. Until he reached the spreadsheets, the graphs and the pie charts, that was.

He gave Ichigo a withering and thoroughly unimpressed look, Ichigo tried doing his best pleading expression. There was no point in pretending, Ishida had figured him out anyways.

“I hope you realize you owe me for these,” he announced as he looked down at the papers in front of him, the various graphs taking up almost entire pages.

Ichigo nodded.

“You’re lucky you’re handsome.”

Ishida got up and stretched, showing off every muscle and sinew in his body. Ichigo followed him with his eyes, trailed the movement, smiling a little as Ishida disappeared into the hallway. “Are you coming, Prettyboy?”

Ichigo practically ran. He really could not deny Ishida anything.

 

“My old man’s coming to Tokyo for a few days.” Ichigo was folding a t-shirt, Ishida watching him with a lifted eyebrow. Ichigo might not be very good at folding clothes, but Ishida absolutely loathed it. In a perfect universe, clothes would not crease when they had been thrown into the closet or on the floor; according to Ishida anyways. Sadly it was not a perfect universe, but Ichigo thought that they might be pretty close.

“Should I stay with Inoue for a few days?” Ishida asked and looked up from the textbook he was plowing his way through. 

Ichigo had to admit that Ishida’s self-discipline when it came to studying was intimidating. He was half-way through his 1000 page textbook, Ichigo had not even made it through the first four chapters yet. And Ishida still did not take notes. Ichigo had asked him if he had an eidetic memory in joking frustration when Ishida had finished the welcoming pamphlets and brochures hours before Ichigo had even finished looking over the map. Ishida had shrugged. And Ichigo knew that probably meant yes. 

“If you want to, I mean, I don’t want you to but if you think it’s necessary,” Ichigo stopped rambling when he saw Ishida’s lifted brow, forehead lined in bemusement.

He shook his head, “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

Ichigo smiled widely as he tried folding a pair of pants, Ishida practically snickering at his attempts to get it to submit to his will.

Ishida and Isshin had a rather strained relationship. It had been born the Monday they were to eat dinner at the Kurosaki household. It had gone fine, had been fine, until Isshin had asked for the soba and made an off-hand comment about Rukia and how nice it had been having her stay over. 

“I suppose that’s a perk of Soul Bonding people without their consent,” Ishida had commented dryly and smiled a smile lathered and dripping with insincerity.

Ichigo had almost wanted to slam his head into the table. This had been a subject he should have prepared for to be brought up and most definitely should have known Ishida would be rather hostile towards. 

“Did you ever actually ask Kuchiki-san or Kurosaki if they actually wanted it or did you just assume from the copious amounts of evidence that they needed your help?” Ishida had asked in the same tone he would inquire about something philosophical or intellectual. His eyes had been narrowed in thought and interest, but most importantly judgment. Ichigo had bumped his elbow into Ishida’s.

“I apologize.” Isshin had lowered his head slightly, which just had seemed to antagonize Ishida further. The shades that darkened Ishida’s eyes had Karin sharing a quick look with Yuzu and hurriedly excusing themselves. Ichigo had been glad they did, almost wishing he could do the same.

“You apologize? Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if there hadn’t been anybody to break the Bond?”

“Ishida …” Ichigo had sighed, but Ishida had glared at him, moving his arm out of reach.

“You put Kurosaki and Kuchiki-san in mortal danger and made the months prior a living Hell for everyone involved and you’re apologizing? At what point did you have the right to tie two unwilling and unknowing participants together using a technique neither you nor your benefactor understood?”

“Ishida, it’s okay. He apologized, everything’s fine,” Ichigo had interrupted and had found himself on the receiving end of a glare so vicious and disbelieving he had felt a shiver run down his spine.

“You almost died,” Ishida countered, his brow heavy and his words strangely emotional.

“I know. And that wouldn’t have been the first time, no?” Ichigo did not break contact, nor did he back down. The minute stretched on, Ishida’s eyes were a whirlwind of accusations and questions, but there was no trace of either atonement or regret to find in the bluest of blue. Ichigo breathed out and ran a hand through his hair.

“Could you give us a minute, dad?”

Isshin had almost scrambled to his feet, bringing his plate and glass with him, Ishida watching him like a wolf watched a bleeding animal. He had looked to the table and taken a deep breath; eyes closed and had then turned back to Ichigo, eyes open and blue. Ichigo had held out his hand and Ishida had looked to it with suspicion but had eventually decided to put his own in Ichigo’s.

“How are you not furious with him?” Ishida had almost sneered, but the question in his voice had softened the edge and taken off the worst of the sting.

“Because he didn’t know any better, Ishida. I wasn’t exactly forthcoming and he just wanted me to be happy.” Ichigo had stroked the back of Ishida’s hand with his thumb, but had kept his gaze firm, “He didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I just wonder what made him think you needed to be Soul Bonded with Kuchiki-san in the first place.” The bitterness in Ishida’s voice had soaked into the air and made it sharp to taste. And it was a question Ichigo had pondered for a while, when Rukia was reading or drawing next to him and he found himself mindlessly channel-surfing, he would frown and wonder how it had come to this.

Ichigo had asked Isshin in the end, feeling unsatisfied with his own imagined reasons and wanting facts. 

“You know I told you I wanted to ask you to move in with me, yeah?”

Ishida had nodded.

“I was worried if you’d even say yes and what would happen to us if you didn’t. We could’ve broken up when the school year finished and that thought didn’t exactly make me happy or nothing and when my dad would ask me what was wrong, I didn’t think to tell him the truth so I just told him I missed Rukia and that’s how it all came to be really.” Ichigo had swallowed, but had kept Ishida’s eyes and hand in his. Ishida rolled his eyes.

“He shouldn’t have done anything in the first place.” The bitterness had turned sour and acrid and Ichigo had sighed, squeezing his hand.

“I don’t have the energy to be angry with him or hate him. I’m exhausted, I’m completely beat after these past months and don’t wanna waste my time on hating my dad when I could use it on something infinitely more constructive.” Ichigo had raised his eyebrows at the last part.

Ishida had looked away, “Yeah.”

“I get that you’re mad at him, but please don’t chew his head off, he didn’t know and that’s mostly my fault,” Ichigo had implored quietly. Ishida had watched him carefully, sighing.

“Fine.”

Ichigo had shrugged, “I don’t want to hate my family, Ishida. And I couldn’t really tell you to forgive and forget if I didn’t practice that myself, y’know.” 

“An apology doesn’t magically fix everything.” Ishida crossed his arms and Ichigo knew that statement extended a little further than their present conversation. 

“But it’s the first step in the right direction.”

Ishida had looked off and they had retreated to Ichigo’s room for the rest of the evening. The mood had been a little tense still, at least until Ichigo had started rubbing Ishida’s scalp and the set of his shoulders had melted away with the ministrations. He had started humming and fell asleep soon after despite it only being 8pm. Ichigo had not bothered waking him, he had a spare uniform in his closet anyways.

Ishida closed his book with a rather determined gesture and pushed it across the table, as far away as possible. Ichigo’s eyes followed him as he got up and stretched. “Want to take a shower?” Ichigo sometimes loved how their relationship had dived into the area where taking a shower meant saving water and not committing to water-fueled shenanigans. And sometimes he hated how previously mentioned shenanigans were off the table as it had been his favorite kind of shenanigans to engage in with Ishida.

He nodded none the less and got up, disposing of their clothes on the table and followed Ishida to the bathroom and turned on the water. The shower was short, but peppered with looks and suggestion as to what they should do once they were clean, dry and naked. 

Ishida dried himself off, leaving the towel on his head, creating a strange illusion of a blushing bride, especially after Ichigo told him. The other rolled his eyes, but there was a tentative smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Ichigo chose to forgo the towel completely and simply follow Ishida into the bedroom, grinning madly and reaching out for his hand.

Ishida turned to him the minute they passed the threshold and threw his arms around his neck and kissed him unbefitting for the virgin-bride he resembled. Ichigo’s hands fell to Ishida’s waist, the movement second nature by now. They stumbled into bed because they were reluctant to let go of each other. 

Finding time to be close and single-minded was a lot more difficult now than it had been in high school. If it were not for the weekly rendezvous with their friends, Ichigo doubted they would ever see each other. He lived with Ishida now and the time they actually got to spend together was alarmingly short. It had come as a surprise to the both of them how busy they would be, how much time the menial chores and tedious housekeeping were eating away.

So the evenings they got to curl around each other, where Ichigo was allowed to be possessive and Ishida allowed to be needy, the nights where sleep was not a priority, those had become the lifeblood of his happiness. Because those were the nights that everything else in life came second and they got to focus on the other.

“You need to sleep more,” Ishida commented, stroking a slow finger down Ichigo’s cheek, almost reaching the bone underneath. Ichigo met his eyes and smiled, leaning forward and kissing his forehead. It often happened they would fall into bed and the minute they hit the sheets, Ishida turned almost solemn and Ichigo knew he did the same. They had both come to realize how precious and scattered these lost minutes were.

Ichigo went in and kissed him square on the mouth, Ishida responding in kind. It had become a familiar dance, the kind you would see old people dance when they were alone at night and they had put on the song they had danced to when they were young, letting their feet do the talking and rest their heads in the quietude. It was warm and like coming home, speaking volumes without a single word.

Ishida pushed at Ichigo’s right shoulder, Ichigo letting him guide him into the mattress. Ishida looked at him, his eyes naked and blue and Ichigo felt his blood run faster and his heart cheering it on. There was something unearthly about Ishida’s eyes. Ichigo had yet to figure out what it was, but it made him want to jump off bridges and laugh in the middle of the pouring rain.

Ishida turned off the light and let out a deep sigh, their sheets still glowing bluish and green. “I can’t believe it hasn’t washed out yet.”

Ichigo chuckled and ran his hands up Ishida’s spread thighs, listening to the secrets his skin whispered to him. Ishida turned to him and in the half-torn darkness, Ichigo caught the ghost of his smile. 

A hand was placed on his chest and the other went in search of supplies in the shoebox to Ichigo’s right. Ishida kissed his neck and licked his pulse-point. Ichigo drew a breath, the almost coarse texture of Ishida’s tongue and the blow of air across his skin was drawing goose-flesh. And suddenly something cooler than that enveloped his dick. Ichigo opened eyes he did not know he had closed and met Ishida’s completely black ones.

Ishida’s hands were light and fluttering, bordering on featherlike touches and it was almost enough to make Ichigo go mad with expectation. His skin was crawling, his pulse thrumming, his heart gasping and his blood was humming. Not to mention his dick was almost twitching. And Ishida the smug bastard did not seem to prioritize this in the least. Instead he kept his touches faint and delicate, his fingertips resting against Ichigo’s cheek. There was no question as to who was the hunter and who was the hunted this time around.

And suddenly Ishida sat down and took in everything Ichigo thought he was. He rolled his hips, unhurried and completely unrepentant. Ichigo was left to watch him as the Tokyo light pollution was disrobing the black on Ishida’s right and left the rest as deep and saturated as it pleased. The falling snow would dot his skin with grey, but only fleetingly as they swirled to the ground. Ichigo swallowed and Ishida moved.

It was slow, achingly so. It was certain and self-assured. More so than anything, it was everything Ichigo needed from Ishida and more. The other chuckled and Ichigo could not help but laugh with him as his fingers were twisting in the sheets and his blood curling in his veins. Ishida ran his fingers down his shoulder and collarbone, Ichigo catching his eyes.

When it ended, it was like the universe had swallowed the sun and left it without another source of light. At least until Ichigo opened his eyes and saw Ishida next to him. 

They fell asleep wrapped around and in each other and woke in the same fashion when a series of enthusiastic knocks went through their apartment and their bodies. Ishida tapped his fingers on Ichigo’s chest, humming into the crook of his neck. Ichigo woke with half morning wood and half-conscious erection. He sat up and looked down at Ishida and tucked the sheet over his shoulders.

Fridays were unkind to Ishida and benevolent to Ichigo. He had two classes that day and both around noon. Ishida was swamped twelve hours with a few breaks in-between where he would call Ichigo and recite the grocery list and what else they needed while the other was still down town or finish the essay due the next class.

So their Saturday rituals strongly favored Ishida and thus it was Ichigo who rose and pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, forgoing underwear and shuffled to the door. He looked through the peeping hole and sighed in content resignation as he saw his dad outside. He unlocked and opened the door, leaning on the frame.

Isshin was smiling and pulled his son into a cold hug and patted his back. “It’s good to see you, Ichigo.”

“You too,” Ichigo replied and let him inside the apartment. Isshin dragged dirty water from the melted know outside and brushed off the flakes in his hair. Ishida had long since given up on keeping their entrance clean from the last breaths of winter. March was a cruel mistress.

Isshin handed Ichigo a small present, a bow neatly tied on top of it, “From Karin and Yuzu. They’re sorry they couldn’t come along, but you know … exams, soccer-games, dates.” 

“Dates?” 

“They grow up so fast,” Isshin laughed and patted his shoulder, sighing, “Just like you did.”

Ichigo showed his dad into the kitchen and wondered if their futons had dried from the last time Keigo and Mizuiro had stayed over and Keigo had accidentally spilled coffee all over their beds. Ishida had looked thoroughly unimpressed but had sighed and gathered them and shoved them into the tub for soaking. The kitchen was a little stuffy, but unless they wanted frostbite to eat breakfast with them, there was nothing to do about that.

“Where’s Ishida-kun?” Isshin asked, something akin to nerves fluttering in the words. Ichigo looked to him briefly and flicked on the light before he turned around and went for the coffee pot.

“Sleeping,” he answered and turned it on. Ichigo tried the refrigerator afterwards, looking for cheese and butter, knowing how his dad liked his breakfast. He wondered if it was appropriate to call it breakfast still, but the microwave said 10am, so he supposed it would do. He popped four pieces of bread into the toaster and threw the dairy onto the table, shoving their books and homework off to the side. “I’ll go wake him.”

“No, no. Let him sleep,” Isshin stopped Ichigo before he got to leave the kitchen.

The toaster pinged behind them and Ichigo turned to it, fished out the toast and poured the coffee into two cups. Isshin took those and put them on the table while Ichigo found a pair of plates, a cheese slicer and a knife. They had been far-sighted enough to do the dishes the last night before doing the laundry.

They sat down and Isshin buttered his toast and sliced some cheese, sighed after he had taken a sip of coffee. Ichigo contented with cheese and took a bite. They sat in silence while they drank their coffee and ate their breakfast, listening to the sounds of Tokyo on a Saturday, to the city blooming with light, a greyness beginning to spread throughout Tokyo and felt the violet and rose tinted clouds push through the sky.

“So why’re you in Tokyo?” Ichigo asked when he had finished and wiped his mouth for crumbs. 

Isshin slurped a little coffee, “I’m here visiting you. And looking for a suiting wedding present for Inoue-chan.”

“She invited you, too?” Ichigo asked mirrored his father.

“Yuzu and Karin as well,” Isshin nodded and put down the cup, folded his hands, “Who else?”

“Ishida’s dad.”

“Huh,” Isshin supplied unhelpfully.

Inoue was getting married in May with a guy from Ichigo’s class named Shun. Shun was calm, caring and infinitely better than some of the people Inoue had dated over the course of the year. There had been a few girls, lovely and sweet, but incapable of matching Inoue’s strength and compassion, proving too meek for her taste; also a few guys so void of personality Ichigo had forgotten them completely and a few who had only been around for a few days. She had dated a guy who had later been arrested for hitting his girlfriend; Inoue had almost had to physically restrain Ishida so he would not go on a manhunt. She had befriended the ex-girlfriend of her ex-boyfriend and that was how she had ended up volunteering at a half-way house for battered wives. And that was where she had met Shun. 

His sister had been a regular for the past three years, but she had not worked up the courage to leave her husband for good. Inoue had been working the counter one of the evenings she had come in and when Shun had come to pick her up an hour later, Inoue had fallen in love immediately and the feeling had been mutual. 

Shun had spent the better part of a week asking Ichigo about Inoue in a subtle, yet completely unashamed fashion and Ishida drilled him about Shun so he could report back to Inoue. When Ichigo had advised Shun to call her and just get it over with, he had been at his wits end; there was only so much he could endure for young love. Shun had called Ishida. And while it had not been what Ichigo had in mind, Ishida proved very deft in the arts of matchmaking and before Sunday passed them by, Shun and Inoue had been on two dates and become Facebook officials. They had not been going out for more than five months before he had proposed to her. According to Ishida, Inoue had not bothered with thinking because she had known he was the one. 

So Ichigo and Ishida received an invitation for their wedding and the light in Ishida’s eyes and the way he smiled when he read the invite, had Ichigo wondering if Ishida would say yes if he ever asked, if Ishida simply knew. Because Ichigo knew the reason Ishida looked like that while reading the invitation over and over, again and again. And he wondered if he could ever make Ishida that happy.

“Kurosaki?” Ishida called sounding exhausted. 

“Yes?” both Ichigo and Isshin answered.

“Okay,” Ishida appeared in the doorway looking like death warmed over. He looked from Ichigo to Isshin, a neutral expression on his face, “Good morning.”

“It’s ten past twelve,” Isshin lifted an eyebrow.

“Good noon, then.”

Ishida walked over to Ichigo, kissed his hair and took a sip of the lukewarm coffee before he made a face and emptied the cup into the sink and refilled it. He turned around and leaned against the counter.

“Inoue texted me a few minutes ago asking where we should eat tonight.”

Ichigo watched him with unabashed confusion. Ishida kept watching him as he drank the steaming coffee and waited Ichigo out. It did not take too long, “I completely forgot about that.”

“Yep.” Ishida was holding his phone in one hand, scratching his arm, “So what’s the plan?”

Ichigo looked to his father and then to Ishida who kept drinking coffee in the most unhelpful manner. He could not be blamed really. Mornings had never been Ishida’s forte and before a cup of coffee he was not at his most efficient. 

“We can’t very well cancel, can we?”

“We’ve already rescheduled thrice and the next three months are a logistic nightmare as it is,” Ishida shook his head and rubbed his eyes. His glasses were askew and his hair was tangled, he was the picture of domestic bliss to Ichigo. 

He poured another cup of coffee and sat down next to Ichigo and propped his feet up on the chair, shoving them underneath Ichigo’s thighs. He wriggled his toes and Ichigo could feel how chilly they were. He smiled a quiet half-smile, “We’re too popular, Ishida.”

“Must be our combined charm and wit,” Ishida deadpanned as he took another sip of coffee. Ichigo put his hand on Ishida’s knee and ran his thumb over the kneecap. 

“If you have previous plans, I won’t intrude.” Isshin tapped his fingers on the mug, looking between the two of them. 

“No, come on, dad. We’ll figure something out,” Ichigo protested.

“I should’ve let you know earlier, it’s my own fault.” He grinned, but Ichigo could see the line between his brows deepening. Ichigo had been home visiting once since he moved. Ishida had vehemently denied coming along. He had spent the weekend at home, but when Sunday finally came he was ready to be going home. Isshin had watched him with that same expression as when he had said goodbye to Ichigo on the station. Ichigo hated seeing his father with that, because it usually meant that whatever Ichigo was doing was making him unhappy.

Ishida looked between the two of them before he said, “You could come along.”

Ichigo swallowed as he watched his dad. Isshin’s eyes practically lit up, a careful sheen to it but also surprise, “If it’s alright.”

“If you don’t mind spending your evening with four 20 year olds on a double date, I don’t see any problems with it.”

Ichigo could see his father melting a little, a modest smile on his lips as he nodded, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ishida brushed him off and stood, pulling out his phone, “I’ll just call Inoue.”

Ichigo followed him out with his eyes and half-listened to the conversation he was having with Inoue in their bedroom. Inoue had finally convinced him to stop adding -san to her name. It had been funny watching Ishida struggle with it the first few weeks of the arrangement, mostly because he would catch himself doing it and look so annoyed with himself Ichigo could not help but chuckle. Which usually let to Ishida punching him in the arm.

“Is he still?...” Isshin gestured weakly, looking down into the table.

“Upset?” Ichigo shrugged, “I don’t know, we don’t really talk about it much.” 

They did not talk about it at all, but Ichigo knew Ishida still thought about it. When he would call Rukia he would try to do so during the Fridays were Ishida was not there, so he would not have to analyze every bit of the half-conversation he would get. 

“I see.”

Ichigo chewed on his bottom lip, keeping his eyes on his dad as he finished his coffee and looked around their joint living room, dining room and kitchen. It was strange to see his father like this, so intent on not overstepping his boundaries. He knew Isshin had been reluctant to let him move out, knew he liked nothing more than having the family together under one roof, the nest alive and well.

And when Ichigo thought about it, he always ended up feeling slightly guilty for not visiting more. He would probably be more inclined to do so if Ishida would join him, but Ishida stubbornly rejected the offer every time. When Ichigo passed on the message to his dad, he could almost hear the dejection in his voice, their conversation would end shortly after that and Ichigo would hold the phone for a minute or two feeling a little empty.

Because when Ishida refused to go back to Karakura it was mostly because of Ryuuken. When Isshin heard Ishida refused to go back to Karakura, Ichigo suspected he imagined himself being the primary reason as to why his son’s boyfriend adamantly turned down invitations to stay the weekend. Ichigo had tried breaching the subject with Ishida getting stubborn silence in return.

“Dad.” Isshin looked up at Ichigo. Truth be told he had no idea what he wanted to say. He knew he should tell him it was fine, Ishida would come around, he was sorry he had not visited as much as he should, and he was not the reason Ishida tended to stay away from Karakura.

Ishida chose that exact moment to reenter, this time dressed, glasses straightened and hair less intimidating. “Shun is dying to meet you, Inoue is happy you could join and we’re going to that new place in Chuo, Shun said something about the robatayaki being to die for or something. Inoue said they’d put in a reservation at 6.30. Sound good?”

Ichigo nodded and carefully let his eyes slide to his father who tried containing the smile spilling from his eyes and lips and ultimately surrendered to it. “Yeah, sounds great.”

“What’re your plans today?” Ichigo turned to Ishida and watched him pocket his phone and turn on the kettle, probably to make some instant noodles. “Homework. Nakata-sensei’s out to drown us with it, I’m sure.”

“So you’ll be busy until six then?” Ichigo was clearing the plates, leaving them in the sink as was customary and turned on the faucet. He nodded to Isshin who got up and went to put on his shoes and coat.

Ishida turned off the water. “Probably. You?” 

“We’re gonna go shopping for Inoue’s wedding gift.”

“And subsequently bring it to dinner with them?”

Ichigo found the computer from one of the shelves, handing it to Ishida along with the adapter and unplugged the TV to make room for the computer. Ishida turned it on, already typing password and opening a document he had been working on last night.

“We’ll figure it out. Do you have the list?”

The printer began churning and a single piece of paper made its way stammering into the tray. Ichigo grabbed it and smiled at the almost psychic abilities Ishida seemed to possess.

“You’re the best,” he said and kissed the top of his head as he made his way out in the hallway, putting on boots and jacket. The kettle started whistling but Ishida was already emerged in his paper, writing with almost breakneck speed. “Remember to eat.”

Ishida turned to him with a look of certainty in his eyes, “Be safe.”

They left the apartment and took the subway into the center of Tokyo. Ichigo spent the better part of his Saturday going through warehouses with designer knives and decorative pillows, candlesticks with silver finish and elaborate glass vases as well as clay jars. They walked through aisles and aisles of wooden trays, porcelain for twenty people, silverware for ten and prices exceeding any and all of his expectations. 

Isshin would sometimes stop and look at a cup as if recalling a fond memory and then he would put it down with infinite care, watch a pot with a small smile and a set of drinking glasses with a glint of humor in his eyes. Ichigo asked him why he was smiling when they exited the store, still not bearing any gift suitable for either Inoue or Shun.

“It’s little puzzle-pieces of life, Ichigo. Your mother and I had those cups when she was in college and she cooked me my first miso in a pot a lot like the one in there. They’re tools you build a home with and while we’re looking for something to help Inoue-chan and Shun-kun doing that, I can’t help remembering little things from my own home.” 

Subsequently, Ichigo could not help looking for glasses matching the ones he and Ishida had broken their first day and seeing the measuring cups that replaced them.

They finally found something suited for the two of them and while the clerk was wrapping the set of five different pots and pans, another was shamelessly taking Ichigo’s money for a sewing machine from the same manufacturer as Ishida’s. Ichigo asked if he could have the packages delivered to their apartment by tomorrow and the spitting image of efficiency told him they would be there at eight in the morning.

It was a quarter to six when they left the shop and started heading for Chuo. Ichigo texted Ishida, asking for the address. While they walked, Ichigo told Isshin about school, about his courses, professors and classmates, which bled into a conversation about Shun and by extension Inoue. Even though they were never talking decidedly about Ishida, he always found a way into Ichigo’s answers and stories. They did not talk about the Soul Bonding. Mostly because Ichigo did not think there was anything to talk about in the first place. 

They got to the restaurant, Inoue and Shun already there with Ishida, talking warmly but calmly. Ichigo shrugged off his jacket and made his way to the table. Ishida turned upon sensing him and smiled up at him. “I brought you a cardigan,” he greeted and handed Ichigo a bag with his mustard-colored cardigan. He put it over his white t-shirt with the black and visually challenging print.

Inoue was wearing a softly glowing smile and a dark, maroon sweater pushed up to the elbows and a white dress-shirt underneath, her hair in a careless ponytail and ears studded with gold. She had had a breast-reduction a few months ago, her back-pains growing too intense and mixed with the physical aspect of her degree; she found it almost impossible to endure. Ishida had told him she had been having back-pains since before the whole misery business of Soul Society.

Shun also wore a quiet radiance along with the almost disgustingly handsome and loving smile he would don every time he looked at Inoue. His black hair brushed away from his face and thick-framed glasses was the only accessory he needed besides the ring on his right hand which he kept intertwined with Inoue’s. 

If happiness needed a visual aid, here it was.

Ichigo was almost disgusted. Ishida handed him menu. Sometimes it was like he knew every thought in Ichigo’s head. Isshin was seated at the end of the table and had shaken hands with Shun, already in deep conversation about running a small, independent clinic.

“How was your day?” Ishida asked quietly and pressed his leg against Ichigo’s. 

“Eye opening. Did you know there’s such a thing as designer cutting boards?”

“I did.”

“Of course you’d know,” Ichigo huffed but could not keep the smile out of his voice. “How was homework? Did you finish?”

Ishida nodded and sighed with bliss, “Only took the entire day.”

“Nakata-sensei?” Inoue asked and Ishida nodded again, this time a certain weight to it.

“He’s scary. And I say that as someone who’s been kidnapped by Espadas.”

Shun’s face got a shade darker with that. Inoue had told him everything, but he seemed a little adverse to the idea of Inoue being kidnapped and forced to do the evil bidding of a supreme, yet insane being from another plane of existence. Probably because Shun did not want to see any harm befall anybody. He and Inoue had that in common.

Inoue squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile, “I made it back.”

The waitress came and took their drinks-order as well as the order for their food. While they ate the robatayaki and drank sake; while Ishida would steal Ichigo’s perfectly cooked mushrooms and give him undercooked shrimps in return; while Shun would tell a joke and Ichigo would be more focused on Ishida trying not to snort than on laughing himself; while Ishida would make him after giving a quick demonstration of his ability to dramatize every aspect of his life; while Inoue would bloom and blush; while Shun would watch her; while Ichigo ate a lot, but Ishida ate more; while Ishida shot glances at Ichigo that he always returned; while all this happened, Isshin sat quietly and watched them, a strange, almost content light, playing in his eyes and in his laugh-lines.

By the time they left the restaurant, the lights had come back to Tokyo and illuminated the city with as much care as a mother would kiss the head of her child. They strolled to the subway, not bothering to push themselves into the filled cars, waiting a few minutes until the worst of the crowd had been dispersed. The walk from the station to their apartment took about ten minutes, but tonight they made it last twenty. When they got inside, Ishida got out the futon and made the bed ready despite the protests from Isshin.

Ichigo took Ishida’s hand when they were finally under the blankets, their curtain, as inefficient as ever, spilling over with light from the outside. Ichigo tucked Ishida closer and kept shuffling until they were both comfortable. Ishida sighed and closed his eyes. 

Ichigo kissed the top of his head, whispering, “Thanks.”

Ishida just hummed.

The next morning the wedding presents had arrived and while Ichigo said goodbye to Isshin in the door, Ishida slept. 

Isshin put his hand on Ichigo’s shoulder, a familiar weight, reassurance really. Ichigo smiled and gave him a hug. “Have a nice ride home and tell Karin and Yuzu I miss them. And that they shouldn’t be dating yet. Make it ever, really. I can’t do the intimidating big brother routine if I’m in Tokyo.”

“I will.” Something about his face seemed different, something Ichigo could not quite place. They stood there, on the threshold for longer than they rightfully should. Ichigo felt there was something he should say and Isshin seemed like there was something he needed to let Ichigo know. He swallowed and the corner of his mouth lifted involuntarily. 

“I’m glad,” Isshin said then, something relaxed in his voice and the set of his shoulders. He clapped Ichigo’s shoulder again and nodded, “I’m glad I was wrong.”

The look in his eyes conveyed more than a million pictures and subsequently more than thousands of words, Ichigo felt himself nodding too, not quite sure why, but knowing it felt like absolution somehow. 

Then Isshin turned on his heel and disappeared down the stairs.

It took Ichigo another minute before he realized that his father had not looked as if he wanted Ichigo home, he looked like Ichigo already was.

 

They were both shouldering through the door, book bags and groceries packed tightly between them. Ichigo stumbled over a pair of shoes, swearing as he tripped and caught himself with his shoulder.

“I told you not to leave your shoes out like that,” Ishida commented and Ichigo wanted to say something snappish, something to the effect of rolling your eyes but with words instead. He did not, mostly because Ishida was right and arguing over something this petty might have been of great concern when they first moved in together, but priorities had been made and instances like this had fallen far down on the list. 

Ishida made it inside unscathed as Ichigo’s shoulder still hurt from the less than graceful entry. He toed off his shoes and carried the groceries and his bag into the kitchen, dumping both onto their dinner table. 

Ishida had already begun unpacking the dairy and moving it to the fridge. Ichigo shrugged off his jacket, coaxing Ishida out of his as well and returning them to the hooks by the door. He took off his shoes and pushed them so far up against the wall as humanly possible. 

The kitchen had almost been cleared when he returned, a few packets of baguettes and fruit left. Ichigo wrapped his arms around Ishida, resting his head on his shoulder while he put away the last box of minced meat. He seemed entirely unbothered by Ichigo’s affections. 

Ichigo turned his head towards his neck, his breath ghosting the skin. Ishida moved his neck slightly, swallowing and slowly tilting his head opposite Ichigo, giving him better room. 

He did not waste the opportunity and kissed the throat bared, letting his teeth graze Ishida’s neck.

“Really? The others will be here in less than two hours.” Ishida’s voice sounded breathless, despite the two of them having done next to nothing yet. 

But Ichigo could not blame him. They had gone a week without more than the occasional make out in bed. Ishida and Ichigo both had been more than busy the past seven days. Ichigo had had a hellish week interning at the Tokyo General, his degree slowly becoming more and more practical. His resident ran a tight ship and had almost every one of his interns horizontal in the air to please him.

Ishida had not been faring much better. He had taken up the position as Teacher’s Assistant with Nakata-sensei and had spent more hours correcting the tons of paperwork submitted than sleeping. Ichigo had caught his hand twitching as if still writing in his sleep. They were both exhausted, both tired to the very bone and had thus thought sleep more important than having sex.

Ichigo had to admit he had missed Ishida in a more carnal sense as well as just his company. 

They were having their friends over tonight, having pushed the occasion too many times already and the first break in days for either of them. The evening had been planned for almost two months now. Instead of throwing Inoue a bachelorette party, she had asked if they could just have a night together as their group one last time. Ishida had immediately agreed when she asked if they could host the event. Tatsuki, as Inoue’s maid of honor, had told them to have the apartment cleaned and the groceries shopped, then she would take care of the rest. And since Tatsuki had only advanced in the karate degrees, now donning a 2nd Kyu, needless to say, people obeyed when she gave an order.

Except, Ishida was practically writhing back against him and his neck tasted so much like more and the cadence of his breath was growing faster and louder. Ichigo pressed Ishida closer, sliding his hands down his stomach, fingers already slipping down his pants. April did weird things to people.

Ishida was actively pushing against him, using the counter as leverage, his head hanging low, his tongue wetting his lips. Ichigo gently mouthed at the back of his neck and felt Ishida shiver.

“Bedroom,” Ichigo suggested, almost as breathless as Ishida who nodded and turned, taking Ichigo’s face between his hands and kissed him. The kiss ended almost as soon as it had begun and they practically ran to the bedroom. 

It was fast, fumbling, giddy sex. Ishida laid back, letting Ichigo ravish him, his ass in Ichigo’s lap and his hands in the sheets above his head. Ichigo had the perfect view, Ishida stretched out, muscles shaking and moving as Ichigo manhandled him. 

Bruises were sucked and pushed and pressed into their skin, Ichigo wanting the bluish shadows to extend farther than they did now. Ishida sat up suddenly, meeting Ichigo halfway in a kiss as Ichigo stuttered and came, Ishida smiling into his mouth, hands clutching but gently pulling at his neck, Ishida coming only seconds later. 

They fell back into the mattress, looking at each other with toothy grins and a certain fat, laziness in the air. Ichigo reached out and ran a finger across Ishida’s cheek, his face turning almost solemn as he did.

“I missed you,” he said, letting his finger fall to his collarbone. Ishida nodded and scooted closer. He fitted himself against Ichigo and licked his lips, closing his eyes.

“The others will be here in an hour,” Ichigo commented, but closed his eyes as well. 

Ishida only hummed but said nothing further. Within minutes they were both asleep.

 

Inoue’s wedding was a battle from start to finish. It was almost as if the universe itself disagreed with the joining of Inoue and Shun. Ichigo would not have been surprised if some weirdo-stranger, universe-incarnate, had risen during the “speak now or forever hold your peace” and demanded the ceremony be stopped. Ishida had slapped his arm when he had suggested it, obviously a lot more compassionate to the plight both Shun and Inoue faced.

It had been in the cards from the onset, really. Before the day itself had even been set there had been one issue after the other. 

Shun’s family prided themselves with being both filthy rich and traditional. They had insisted on a more conventional Japanese wedding. Both Inoue and Shun had been opposed to the idea, both wanted a more Western and romantic wedding with room for their friends and their extended family. Shun’s mother had tried time and time again to convince the two of them to change their mind and get married at the family-shrine. She had even gone so far as to call Ishida, who in no uncertain terms told her to piss off. 

It was only the following weekend when introductions were made that it became clear exactly who Ishida had told to shove their head where the sun did not shine.

Both Ichigo and Ishida had been on the receiving end of not too subtle and not too few glances their way, practically crippled with disapproval. In spite, Ichigo had stayed close to Ishida all through the rehearsal and held his hand at every possible opportunity. And Ishida had not minded as much as Ichigo thought he might.

And since Ichigo, Ishida, Keigo, Mizuiro, Chad and Tatsuki especially functioned as Inoue’s family, the frosty attitude towards Ichigo and Ishida did not exactly leave the rest of the group inclined to keep up the polite and good-natured, but overly stiff mood they had tried to maintain throughout the dinner.

Inoue’s dress arrived a week late and with flaws so huge they would have been spotted miles away. Since Shun’s family was largely responsible for the funding, they had cut back on the money available the minute Shun had decided to ignore his parents’ wishes in regards to the venue and the style of their wedding. And Inoue being Inoue had wanted the larger part of the budget to be spent on the food, the venue, the decorations, the cake – all the things that the guests would be enjoying.

That had in turn meant that the money available for the dress had been meager to say the least. They had ordered it from China, where the offers for a cheap, but nice dress far more plentiful there than in Tokyo or Japan itself. 

Ichigo and Ishida had been sitting playing Mortal Kombat when Inoue had rung the doorbell. When Ichigo had opened, she had stood outside, wringing her hands and looking close to tears. 

“Who is it?” Ishida had called from the kitchen.

“It’s just me, Ishida-san.” Inoue had tried smiling, but it had faltered and stumbled. Ichigo had, much like Ishida if his sudden appearance was anything to judge from, heard the honorific Inoue had attached to his name and had found it odd, seeing as Inoue had been the one to insist she and Ishida laid off the suffixes to begin with. 

It had been when Ishida had made his way to the door that she had broken and started crying, “I know I said it didn’t matter that much …”

“Come inside,” Ishida had said, and to Ichigo, “Make some tea, yeah?”

As Ishida had calmed Inoue down and Ichigo had boiled water and had the tea drawing, she had told them about the dress and how she could not tell Shun because he was already stressed with all the other preparations, but the dress was terrible on all accounts.

“It’s too tight and the fabric’s stiff and you can see the stitching and it’s too long even with heels on,” Inoue had looked a mix between ashamed and exasperated when she had explained the situation. “Tatsuki-chan told me that I should talk to you about,” she had paused and looked down, “fixing it.”

“Do you have it with you?” 

Inoue had nodded, “It’s in the car.”

“Kurosaki, can you help Inoue get the dress, I’ll clean up here and then we’ll have a look,” Ishida asked and had already begun clearing the table, unplugging the gaming console to plug in the stereo.

Ichigo had taken Inoue down to her car and helped her unload the dress. Now, Ichigo was not an expert on wedding-dresses, but he could understand the basic idea and why Inoue had taken a liking to that, but he had to admit, he had a difficult time seeing it in the mass of fabric they had carried up to their apartment.

Ishida had turned on the stereo, his latest band obsession playing and had poured the tea.

Inoue and Ichigo had put the dress on the table and Ishida had inspected it, looking a slightly more worried than when he had first heard of this misery-business.

“I’ll not lie, this is pretty shit, Inoue.” Ishida was nothing if not delicate, “It’s polyester or something very close, I don’t think the seamstress has ever seen a female body, let alone been in possession of ideas to make her products flattering on one. The seams are nothing short of horrible, the skirt is a lost cause and the sleeves are an abomination. You need some serious skill to fix this.”

Ichigo had leaned back and sipped his tea, watching Inoue nodding along as Ishida pointed and explained all the problems that there was with the dress. 

“Can you do it?” Inoue had looked pleading, on the verge on worrying a hole in her lip.

Ishida had smiled then, something so warm and genuine, Ichigo felt himself mimic the gesture, “Of course I can.”

Ishida had spent the remainder of the night taking Inoue’s measurements, asked her to put on the dress and walk in it for him, had Ichigo take notes and made sure Inoue drank a lot of tea. They had been sitting in the kitchen until daybreak. Ishida had been cutting open, re-stitching, utilizing every left-over piece of fabric from both the dress and his own reserves. For once it proved convenient that the Quincy attire was white since Ishida owned loads and spades of fabric in that very color.

All three had fallen asleep in Ichigo and Ishida’s bed, all of them too tired to set up the futon in the kitchen. 

It took Ishida nine days to finish the dress, to save it more like it. In every available moment he would do needle-work, would re-attach a fixed sleeve, trim the bottom of the skirt, redo the neckline, the dress had been assembled, disassembled and reassembled so many times by now that Ichigo was surprised that Ishida would still frown at certain parts, seemingly uncertain as to where they were placed before. 

There were two days left until the wedding when Ishida called Inoue over to have the final fitting. He stepped around the finished work, having demanded Ichigo stayed in the bedroom while Inoue was wearing the dress. Ichigo had been happy to oblige, really, he did not want to spoil the moment when Inoue was going to walk down the aisle by seeing the dress too soon. 

He wondered if he could ever get Ishida to walk down the aisle like that. It was that thought that entertained him while he was locked in the bedroom.

Inoue left with the dress that afternoon.

The dress was only the first bump on the road though. 

On the day itself, it turned out the flowers had arrived at the wrong venue, the caterer had gotten lost, the bridesmaids dresses for Tatsuki and Misuki, another nurse from Inoue’s internship, were still missing in action, Inoue’s veil had gone AWOL and Shun’s best man had yet to resurface from the stag-night.

Inoue had, despite all of this, looked calm as the eye in the hurricane that was her wedding. She sat in her underwear, wearing Ishida’s sweater because the temperature left much to be desired, and sipped her tea. It was only the clattering of the cup and saucer that gave away her nerves.

Ichigo exchanges a look with Ishida and nodded, “Alright, we’ll fix this, don’t worry Inoue.”

“I’ll go fetch the dresses and the veil.” Ishida was almost out the door before Ichigo had even the slightest chance of saying anything.

It took Ichigo no more than three minutes to find the others and explain to them the severity of the situation. He then sent Mizuiro to the flower-shop to get some new flowers and have them send over the others from the other venue as well, telling him that anything about paying extra was out of the question. Chad was made responsible for locating the missing caterer. Ichigo told him to go talk to the kitchen, get the number and then put on his threatening giant-routine, the one they had used in junior high. Keigo was sent to explain the situation to Shun and try and calm him down if possible.

“What about me?” Tatsuki asked, grabbing Ichigo’s arm as he was making his way to the best man’s room, hoping they would not have another Hollywood movie on their hands. 

“Go make sure Inoue’s okay,” he said and ran off.

It turned out the best man had a severe case of the morning after and Ichigo had, following the New Year’s Party, gotten well-acquainted with every single cure available on the marked. And now that expertise proved more useful than it ever had.

He had him drinking saltwater to throw up, gave him aspirin for the headache, went to pick up a cheeseburger with fries from the nearest fast-food joint and most importantly he forced him to drink glass after glass of water. His color began brightening ever so slightly, life reemerged in his eyes and now all he needed was a breath mint.

Where Inoue had chosen a night in with her friends, Shun had apparently been dragged through every single cliché surrounding the bachelor-party ever conceived by man. 

Ichigo had his patient drink more water and procured a toothbrush and some toothpaste with strict doctor’s orders regarding the usage of those items. 

He let himself out and made his way to Shun’s room, hoping he was doing about as well as Inoue, though the chances of that were pretty slim if the state of his best man was anything to go by.

He knocked and the door was answered by Keigo who looked uncharacteristically serious, “Thank God, come inside, hurry!”

When he entered, Ichigo understood why Keigo had been so relieved to see him. Shun was just sitting, staring out the window. He looked medically fine, but the way his eyes held no presence was a little more than disconcerting. Ichigo exchanged a look with Keigo who shrugged and went to sit down next to Shun.

“Shun?” Ichigo tried, frowning. 

His phone buzzed, Mizuiro informing him the flowers were on their way and so was he. Ichigo replied a happy smiley and pocketed his phone again.

“Shun?”

“What if she says no?”

Ichigo could do nothing but stare, “What?”

“What if she doesn’t want to marry me?” Shun repeated, turning, looking panicked, something childlike about the lines around his eyes, the way his mouth pulled back.

“Are you kidding me?”

Shun turned away again, frowning, pressing his lips together, shaking his head, “You don’t … She’s …”

Ichigo did not dare touching him, there was something frail about him, something resigned. Keigo shifted his weight to the other foot, uncomfortable to say the least about his place there. Ichigo felt for him, he really did.

“What if I can’t make her happy? What if … what if I end up doing the exact opposite?”

His phone buzzed again, a message from Ishida, reporting the dresses were currently slung over his back and the veil with them. Ichigo tossed the phone to Keigo and nodded towards the door. Keigo hurried out, closing the door silently behind him.

Shun had moved to cradle his head in his hands, hiding his eyes and face alike. 

Ichigo took a deep breath, “Inoue was in love with me once, y’know. I was the reason she went to Hueco Mundo with a Hollow, she did it to protect me.”

“How is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“Inoue loves with everything she has. She loved the Espada who abducted her, she cried for him when I killed him.”

“This isn’t helping.”

“Shun, Inoue loves you more than she’s ever loved anybody. For someone like her that’s almost impossible – you want to be worth that. And Inoue wants you to be there, Shun, she wants you to be the one she loves and is loved by in return. She deserves that, she deserves more than that, but that’s all you’ll be able to give her for now.”

Shun looked up at him, his hair rumpled and his eyes lit by an unearthly spark, more electric than fire.

“But you won’t be able to give her anything if you don’t trust her with …” Ichigo swallowed and simply threw his hands up and let them hover a little. 

Shun watched his hands, watched him gesture at everything and nothing, watched him as he let them fall to his lap and then looked up, meeting his eyes, looking away and nodding. “Yeah.”

Keigo chose that moment to open the door and poke his head inside, “You should get ready, both of you, it’s on in 20 minutes.”

Ichigo stood and hurried towards the door, but turned around before he made it out, pointing to Shun, “Remember what I said. Inoue had an older brother, but since he’s not here today, I’ll be the one to say it: hurt her and I will impale you with my impossibly large katanas. I’m sure Ishida would send more a few arrows your way as well, but I can’t speak for him. Just … trust her, okay?”

He was out the door before Shun could reply.

He found Ishida in their room, putting on his own suit, Ichigo’s out on the bed for him. With small smiles, Ishida helped Ichigo tie a Windsor-knot and corrected his jacket, buttoning the front and brushing down the back. Ichigo looked himself over, “How do I look?”

“Ravishing,” Ishida winked and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Did Chad find the caterer?” 

“Yeah, he’d landed himself in Shibuya.”

Ichigo frowned but did not comment further as the door was opened and Keigo and Mizuiro burst in, followed by Chad. 

“Come on loverboys, our girl’s getting married today!” 

The seats were filled, Inoue having made friends everywhere she went and Shun having an old and extensive family. Tatsuki was standing with Misuki, their dresses a shy turquoise and their hands holding lilies and anemones. Opposite them, Shun stood fidgeting with his fingers, watching the door at the end with intent and his best man looking significantly more human than when Ichigo had left him. 

Only a few flowers had made it into the room, but the amount of candles lighting it, and there were hundreds, made it seem intentional. Mizuiro smiled, obviously responsible. 

Ichigo smirked and took Ishida’s hand, letting him know. Ishida looked to him, eyes flickering to Ichigo, then back to the altar. 

There was a piano stationed at the back and until now the pianist had been dancing through one classical piece after the other, really, the pianist was the only thing that had not gone to shit.

Then suddenly it quieted, opening a soft melody. To Ichigo it sounded like someone was playing the rain on a flower-field, plucking the strings of a shooting star the moment the clock strikes midnight. It sounded like love. Ichigo looked to Ishida who had turned towards the door. Ichigo could have written sonnets, poor sonnets, but sonnets none the less about Ishida kissed by candlelight, eyes that defined the color blue and lips currently being bitten without mercy. Ishida met his eyes and Ichigo could almost feel him lean forward and kiss him, it felt real, but Ishida never moved. 

Instead, the doors opened and Inoue stepped out into the sea of light. 

She looked positively divine, something ethereal about her entire appearance. Beautiful was really the only word he could use, but even that but a poor word next to the radiance she had, almost giving off as much light as the candles around her. 

Her hair was laced with anemones, a full, round bun on her head and the veil only falling over her face. The dress looked nothing like the mess Inoue had brought them that Thursday evening. The sleeves were long and not a single seam was out of place, the light playing in the fabric was the only thing giving away the lace that Ishida had sewn into the dress to hide the cheap fabric underneath. The neckline was deep but not too revealing, soft and wide, kissing her shoulders. Down her back was a long line of buttons, small and round. Ishida had cursed and wished an untimely death upon himself with each one. The train was not longer than a yard, following Inoue’s steps with a shyness that only added to the magic of her walk. From her hips the dress parted and revealed a pleated skirt, sharp and crisp. Her hands clasped her bouquet tightly, the anemones, lilies and roses shivering with her.

All eyes were on her as she walked down the aisle. She walked alone, but she held herself tall and somehow it was the only way it could be, Inoue being the only one who could give herself away.

Something shone in Shun’s eyes, more than just the tears that had glazed over his eyes. When Inoue reached him, he swallowed and smiled. 

The ceremony took about half an hour, Ichigo never letting go of Ishida’s hand and not realizing how tightly he had held it until he let go and saw Ishida flex his fingers. 

During the whole thing, Ichigo could not help imagining himself and Ishida up there instead, exchanging those thinly veiled looks, biting their lips, smiling like only they understood the joke, like they were the only ones present and the only ones who would ever feel this way.

When the pastor bade Inoue and Shun kiss, Shun removed the veil with so much care, as if he was going to see her for the first time and in a sense, Ichigo supposed, he was. They kissed as if it was their first, their last, their only one. It was light, it was loving and it was adoring. With that kiss they became one and Ichigo felt himself grow slightly envious at it, because he and Ishida had never shared anything like that.

He glanced to Ishida, he was smiling, looking happy beyond himself and about to cry but still so far from it. Ichigo wanted to ask him then and there, but suddenly they were standing and as Inoue and Shun walked down the aisle together, they began making their way outside as well.

It took far longer than expected, the guests muttering and mumbling amongst themselves. When they reached the outside, it made a whole world of sense.

All the flowers Mizuiro had ordered brought over from the wrong venue had ended up outside. I looked like a field full of blooming May-flowers and Inoue was standing in the middle of them, laughing and covering her mouth with her hands, trying to move to the car, but constantly being stopped by another detail.

“Was this supposed to happen?” Ichigo asked Mizuiro.

Mizuiro shook his head, “I thought they’d forgotten about them.”

It did not seem to matter much to either Inoue or Shun, both of them smiling and laughing and the petals sweeping across the pavement and the road, guiding them towards the car that would take them to the hotel where they would have their wedding-party. 

Ichigo remembered little from the party itself.

He remembered dancing with Inoue and telling her nothing about the morning’s trials and tribulations, instead he let her rest her forehead on his chest, smiling and telling him how happy she was and how thankful she was to have them here.

He remembered Mizuiro putting an anemone in Ishida’s hair and Ishida not removing it.

He remembered saying hi to Ryuuken, avoiding the question of where Ishida was presently, but otherwise a brief, but pleasant conversation about the hospital he was interning at, the music at the wedding and Inoue’s dress.

He remembered seeing Ishida talk to Isshin, something akin to a smile on his lips until Karin came and dragged Ichigo there, grabbing Yuzu along the way as well. It was the first time all five of them had been together since that Monday Ichigo had brought Ishida home for dinner and strangely enough, the atmosphere was not as strained as Ichigo remembered it.

He remembered Inoue being hugged by Shun’s parents, tears in their eyes.

He remembered mock-dancing with Karin, laughing when either one of them made a particularly hideous move, joined by Tatsuki and Mizuiro, the four of them flailed and shouted along to the songs.

He remembered him and Chad having deep conversations while both of them were on the wrong side of intoxicated and neither of them could barely stand. He leaned into Chad and told him thank you for abiding, abiding love, man! 

He remembered Inoue and Ishida dancing, barely moving, talking in low voices, but a blush on Ishida’s face as Shun came over and hugged him tightly and stole away Inoue to do the twirl her around.

He remembered Ishida laughing, throwing his head back.

He remembered him and Keigo getting Shun drunk, so drunk that he actually started crying, but they were happy tears, so they did not have to worry and suddenly Keigo started crying too, not really sure what his tears were feeling but he thought they were benign. 

He remembered the moment he took Ishida outside and asked him if he wanted to marry him.

What he remembered the best though, was the look of confusion and resignation in Ishida’s eyes before he shook his head and smiled without mirth, “Don’t be stupid.”

 

Ishida was scrubbing down the tub. Ichigo had brought home a black light as a joke and that had opened a can of worms Ichigo would rather he had left alone. Putting it mildly, their bathroom had looked like Diwali, New Years and 4th of July combined. It had lit up like a child’s eye on Christmas and had both Ichigo and Ishida wildly suspicious of the previous tenant.

“We have not bled or fucked this much, Kurosaki, I refuse to believe that.”

Ichigo wanted to point out that even on a dry week they had sex at least twice, but he could tell from the set of Ishida’s shoulders that this was not a joking matter. 

So Ishida hauled out rubber-gloves, cleaning agents of all shapes and sizes and an apron and handed Ichigo a pair of yellow gloves with a fierce look. The radio was cranking out old tunes from the 60s, among them Sukiyaki. Ichigo put on gloves after a slight pause.

Nothing had changed between them after the wedding. Ishida did not mention his refusal and Ichigo did not really need to remember the look in Ishida’s eyes to know he should not try again. It had stung. It had hurt more than he thought it would, but then Ishida had been acting like nothing had changed and then it had been easy to pretend to have forgotten.

But in moments like this where they were so painfully domesticated, in those seconds, Ichigo would wonder why Ishida had said no. 

Chad had told him not to walk down that road and that if he wanted answers it was better asking Ishida himself instead of making up the worst possible scenarios. He had remained close to Ichigo for the rest of the evening, assumedly to keep him from drinking more wine. Ichigo knew that was not true.

Now on his knees, driving the brush against the tiles, Ichigo sat back on his heels looking around. There was no visible difference between the area he had cleaned and the area he had not. It brought a very new meaning to the word useless. 

And maybe that was what it was. Nobody had said they would die together.

Ichigo looked over his shoulder, watching Ishida brush his fringe out of his eyes, huffing at the tub as if it had personally offended him. The corner of Ichigo’s mouth lifted in quiet humor, but when he turned back to the white floor and the scrubbing brush, it went away. 

He grabbed the brush and drove even harder at the tiles and the grooves between them. 

Maybe it was not meant to last forever. But why had Ishida said no? Technically, he had not, he had asked him not to be stupid and that was almost even worse. His fingers were getting sore from gripping the brush too hard, his knuckles creaking with every push. Ishida had made it sound like it was the last thing he could possibly want. 

Ichigo stopped. 

He breathed, his jaw working rigidly as if it would slow his heart if he pressed his teeth together. He did not even think before he opened his mouth, “Ishida?”

Ishida hummed, sounding completely neutral. Ichigo opened his mouth, closed it. He had no idea what he wanted to say, how he wanted to ask or if he even dared to put words to it. He took a breath, hoping it would deafen the blood pounding through his ears, quivering in his veins.

“What?” Ishida asked and turned to him. Ichigo shook his head, letting his courage fail him this once.

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

This time he was the one who hummed. 

They finished when the sun was about to touch the horizon, only peeking out between the skyscrapers. The room was practically lathered in golden light, the way only the dying sun of the harvest could. The curtains were fluttering quietly in the breeze, looking wanton for touch and comfort. 

Ichigo stood on their balcony while Ishida put the tools of torture away. 

He joined Ichigo there, leaning his elbows on the railing. Together they watched the sun set over Tokyo and said nothing to each other. It felt fragile. It felt cold. Even though the sun was still kissing warmth into the sky, his hair and the wind, Ichigo felt himself wanting to get inside and pretend nothing had happened.

He crosses his arms and leaned back on their window. It felt like the whole world was made of glass, clear and empty. The night moved quickly after the final rays had fled the creamy and pink sky. It reminded him of Inoue in her wedding-dress, blushing and smiling. And it reminded him of Ishida asking him not to be stupid.

It was not until he heard Ishida asking him, that he felt his hand in his own, “Takeout?”

Ichigo looked at him, all blue eyes and terrible lips. Then Ishida smiled. And Ichigo, being powerless against anything Ishida did or said, swallowed and returned it, feeling his fingertips warm in Ishida’s hand. He nodded and went back inside.

That night Ishida spooned Ichigo, kissing his neck and whispering stupid trivia into his hair. Ichigo fell asleep, feeling Ishida’s arms wrapped around him, feeling warm. 

He woke and found neither of them had moved. 

 

“Cheating’s your department, Kurosaki, not mine!” Ishida spat and Ichigo could practically feel himself pale and flinch at that. 

“Are you fucking serious?!” 

Ishida looked completely unrepentant, only met the stare head on. Ichigo clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling spite on his tongue. “Maybe I should stay the night at Keigo and Mizuiro’s.”

“Yeah, maybe you should.” Ishida folded his arms, looking completely stern and sure of himself. Ichigo grabbed his jacket and his keys, his backpack and shoved on his shoes. He could not even look at Ishida, the other kept the self-righteousness thick in the air, the pride rolling off the atmosphere in fat pearls.

Ichigo left without looking back. 

He found his phone from his pocket and called up Keigo, explaining the situation as concisely as he could, knowing Mizuiro would want the full story when he got there anyways.

It was not the first time he had come to their place because he and Ishida had had a fight. It was odd how their fights always ended up circling back to the incident with the Soul Bond and Rukia. Ichigo was always caught blindsided, Ishida was always scarily precise. He knew how to get Ichigo to hurt the most and he was not afraid of using that knowledge when they fought. 

Ishida had been coming home later and later this last week, studying with classmates from his program and drinking a cup of coffee with them afterwards to wind down. Ichigo had had a few possessive streaks, but those mostly happened when he was drunk because he knew Ishida would never do to him what Ichigo unknowingly and unwillingly had done to him two years ago by now.

So when he casually had asked him whether or not he was cheating on him, Ishida had turned to him slowly and looked as if hell no fury hath like a Quincy scorned. Ichigo had immediately tried diffusing to tension, explaining it was a joke and that he did not mean it, but Ishida was having none of it.

“Why did you say it then?” he had demanded and then the argument had spiraled from there. Because Ishida was still sore and bruised and Ichigo had thought they were doing better than they apparently were, they became vicious, and vicious, tired and exhausted was never wisely mixed.

The streetlights seemed harsher here than they were in Karakura. Cars were screaming at each other as the traffic was not moving as fast as it should, much to the dismay of the drivers. There was snow in the air despite it being October. The stars were invisible in Tokyo, as if they were afraid of the city itself.

Ichigo went inside the 7eleven on the corner of their street and looked for something to eat. He had not had dinner. He had been waiting for Ishida to get home to eat, knowing the other preferred them having their meals together. Maybe he should just start eating by himself, just to spite Ishida. He knew he never would, but it was still nice to entertain the idea.

Ichigo bought a package of take-away sushi and a coke. The cashier looked at his hunched shoulders and decided not to pursue the usual questions regarding offers and whatever specials they might have for this week. She let Ichigo walk instead and gave him a tentative smile along the way for free. If Ichigo was a worse person, he would have smiled back and winked at her, wondering if actually, willfully cheating might get Ishida off his high horse for once and let them move on. And then he shook his head, because he was not that much of a shithead.

The next question was whether or not he should eat it now or wait until he got to Keigo and Mizuiro’s place. 

They had talked about this a million times now. Ichigo understood Ishida’s trust was difficult to regain, but he also thought Ishida should loosen up a little. For once, Ichigo did not feel as if it was his fault. Sure, he had been insensitive, but he had apologized, had apologized for the very event a billion times as well, but apparently merely thinking about it was a criminal offense. 

Sometimes he wondered if they would ever get over it. Sometimes he wondered if Ishida wanted to get over it, wondered if he ever could.

Ichigo sat down and unpacked his dinner, breaking the chopsticks apart and rolling them between his fingers before deciding on an uramaki to start with. 

He had eaten about half when his phone rang. With a mouthful of nigiri, he answered the call, “Hello?” 

“Are you there yet?”

Ishida sounded dejected and slightly annoyed. Ichigo swallowed and picked a sashimi up. He ate it while he let the silence serve him. He heard Ishida huff and then an intake of breath.

“No, I’m not.”

“I’m sorry,” Ishida spoke quietly. There was always something so fragile about him when he apologized and it was almost precious to hear. Ichigo chewed as he mixed a little more wasabi into the soy.

“Okay.”

“Could you be a little wordier?” Ishida sighed. Ichigo knew he was being kind of a dick, but for once he was not the one who was to blame.

“I accept your apology, but I don’t think it’s okay that you throw something like that in my face whenever you feel like it,” Ichigo fleshed out and picked up another sashimi.

“I never feel like it, Kurosaki.”

“Then maybe you should stop doing it.”

“It’s not that easy.”

Ichigo trapped the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, opening the coke and taking a sip. It fizzed down his throat. 

“Why? Because that would mean moving on and not automatically having the moral high ground when you use the cheating-card?”

“That’s not it!” Ishida huffed, getting wound up again. Ichigo sighed and knew he should stop being an asshole. He threw out the empty sushi box and screwed the cap back on, tapping the sides. The coke was leaving wet marks on his pants, but Ichigo carried on traced the letters with his finger. “What is it then?”

“I’m not sure if I can.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t mean to bring it up, it’s just the first thing that comes to mind when I want … want you to hear me out.”

“I’m all ears, Ishida.”

He could practically hear Ishida thinking of the best way to word his thoughts, shuffling through his feelings, finding the best way to describe them. Ichigo waited, it had become second nature by now.

“It feels like you hurt me easier,” Ishida said, “and it feels like you don’t even have to try.”

Ichigo unscrewed and screwed the cap, heard it hiss angrily at his antics. 

“You have no idea,” Ichigo mumbled, mostly to himself. Because Ishida really had no fucking clue apparently how sore Ichigo has been for the past months. It had gotten better, but he had felt like he had been left out, in the dark in regards to something that very much so affected him. And Ishida seemed to have no idea.

“What was that?”

“You have plenty of ammunition without the Soul Bond, Ishida.”

There was a quiet silence and Ichigo turned his head, seeing Ishida standing a good 60 feet away from him. He lowered the phone and walked to him, hands hidden in his pockets and eyes on the pavement. Ichigo reached out and tugged his fingers inside the pocket, touching Ishida hand and coercing him to give it up.

“I’m sorry. I should be better at dealing with this by now.” Ishida shifted and looked up, from the ground. His eyes met Ichigo’s, considering him, taking him in. Ichigo sighed and asked him to sit down silently.

Ichigo offered him the coke and Ishida took it timidly. There was something about the subdued mood he was in that made Ichigo want to shake his head and smack his shoulder for being ridiculous.

Instead, he kept his hands to himself. “I’ll wait.” 

Ishida looked up at him, his eyes in stark contrast with the world above them, almost too blue to be real.

“I told you that already,” Ichigo added. And it was true in regards to almost everything concerning Ishida.

Ishida nodded and crossed his legs, fiddling with his fingers as if he was deciding his next course of action. Ichigo took the coke and drank the last of it and threw it out. The bin was almost full, but Ichigo crammed it in anyways.

“I don’t like you insinuating I would ever cheat on you.” Ishida put his hair behind his ear. Ichigo caught his hand before it could run away into his pocket again. Ishida looked at them briefly, “I don’t like that you think that I could.”

“It was a joke, Ishida. Poor taste, I admit, but a joke none the less.”

“But it’s a thought that’s occurred to you,” Ishida sighed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. Ichigo caressed the one in his absentmindedly, running his thumb across. 

Ichigo scratched his head, “In passing.”

Ishida turned to him, eyes wide and almost scared. Ichigo leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth, “But I also know you’re better than that.”

A carhorn blared, but neither of them looked away from the other. Ishida chased his eyes and Ichigo was happy to be captured by him. “Good.”

Ichigo nodded.

They remained where they were, Ichigo still holding Ishida’s hand, watching him through sidelong glances. Ishida remained calm, watching traffic drift past. His eyes were running after whatever car got his attention next.

“Are you still going to Asano and Kojima’s?”

“Yep.”

“When are you coming home?”

“Tomorrow, probably.”

Ishida nodded, something resigned to it, like he too realized a little time apart might not me a terrible idea. 

Ichigo got up and kissed the top of Ishida’s head, picking up his bag and started walking. He turned and waved, saw Ishida look after him, the corner of his mouth, the one Ichigo had kissed, lifting ever so slightly.

 

Ichigo twisted his leg around the blanket, crumbling the sheets and feeling damp all over. His leg was freezing, but tucking it under back in would only make it blazing. He coughed and buried his face deeper into the pillow. He was shivering and shaking, jaw so tense he was afraid he would break it.

He felt four fingers touch his forehead. He swallowed and hoped that they would stay there. 

“You’re burning up,” Ishida mumbled and moved his hand away.

Ichigo wanted to reply but coughed instead.

He had gotten sick almost the minute he had entered their front door after staying out all night with Keigo and Mizuiro. Apparently the February chill had been a little colder than anticipated, but also far more malevolent. 

Ichigo flipped the pillow over and drove his head into it, hoping the linen on this side would be cooler. He had also acquired a headache along the way, making this an all-round terrible experience. 

He felt the mattress dip down and then a washcloth on his brow, “Better?”

Ichigo sighed and nodded. He could not see it, but he knew Ishida was smiling that little half-smile of his. They had fallen back into their usual rhythm as it had been, pre-wedding. Ishida seemed to be completely unconcerned in regards to the future of their relationship, seemingly very sure that they were doing fine. And since 75% of Ichigo’s insecurities was fueled by Ishida’s opinion on the matter, most of his worries had subsided. 

There was still the occasional pang, something gnawing away at him when he was not paying too close attention to his thoughts. Most of these moments were spurred by Ishida getting a distant look in his eyes, pausing whatever he was doing and painting a little frown on his forehead.

Ishida began rising, but Ichigo gingerly touched his wrist. The other paused, but did not return to the bed. In a perfect universe, Ichigo would not have to ask, because Ishida would know he would like him to stay. And in said universe, he would not be contagious, so they could cuddle all day without worrying about Ishida catching his flu and universities were understanding to the plight of their students. 

Alas, the universe was not perfect and Ichigo had to ask Ishida to stay instead.

“I have homework, some of us aren’t lawfully exempt from doing it,” Ishida said, but leaned forward and pecked Ichigo’s cheek. He left him in bed, completely alone and abandoned with nothing to do but revel in his headache and his sweat. He rolled on to his side, off the pillow and onto the bare sheet. That had potential, it could work. The washcloth had fallen off his forehead, but it had gone lukewarm already so it was not a great loss in the great perspective of things.

“Kurosaki?” 

Ichigo groaned, hoping it would convey the details of his current predicament with both eloquence and wit. 

“Pathetic is the word that springs to mind,” Ishida sighed but put the cloth back. “Should I set up the futon in the kitchen?”

Ichigo cracked open his right eye, considering Ishida, wondering whether or not this was a trick or a benevolent imposter. He decided to voice his concern, “Why?”

“Because you look like shit and it would be easier for me to keep an eye on you in there.”

“Please,” Ichigo accepted the offer for what it was, an olive-branch on this, his sea of sickness.

“Give me a minute.”

Ichigo could hear him shuffle about the room, finding pillows, bed sheets and blankets; possibly every single article designated for sleeping in the entire apartment. He heard Ishida move the table around, move the chairs and wondered why, because normally, it was possible to lay out the two futons they had without moving the table. 

Ishida came back in and knelt next to Ichigo, putting a hand on his shoulder and then helping him up. Ichigo draped the blanket already in his possession over his shoulders and clung to the ends. Ishida walked behind him and herded him into the kitchen. The futon was spread out, the pillows and the blankets were thrown haphazardly in the corner and the laptop was on the other of the pile. 

Ichigo sat down in the nest of cotton and clouds and started rearranging it to suit his needs. 

Ishida handed him a cup of tea, which he put on one of the shelves, pushed the collected works of Shakespeare to a side and made room for his mug. Suddenly, the controller landed in his lap and Ichigo looked up to see Ishida power up the gaming console. 

“I might love you,” Ichigo croaked and took the controller into his hands and flicked through their library. He settles on Mortal Kombat, feeling nostalgic. Last time he had played this game, Mizuiro and Keigo had been beaten to a pulp because of his and Ishida’s excellent co-op. 

They had played in teams that night, Tatsuki and Chad, Inoue and Shun, Mizuiro and Keigo and finally Ichigo and Ishida. Needless to say, Ishida had barely touched his controller and all their opponents had crumbled before them. Ah, sweet memories.

“Let me know when you need help,” Ishida groaned and sat down himself on the opposite end of the futon, placing the laptop on his thighs and tangling his feet with Ichigo’s under the blankets.

Yeah, Ichigo thought he might love him. 

 

There was a soft summer breeze catching his hair, but beside that, nothing was moving. It was almost as if the entire world was still, waiting, breathing. May had dragged itself by, June had flown and now July appeared as it was never going anywhere. There was a calm to the air, one that no one wanted to stir.

Keigo and Mizuiro was lazily slung in one garden chair, sipping lemonade and ice tea, Keigo reading a magazine and Mizuiro caught up in his cell-phone. Chad had relocated to the grass, lying with his hands behind his head, eyes closed. Tatsuki flopped down next to Ichigo who was sitting at the table, talking to Shun about their brutal upcoming semester. The last one had been a bloodbath, this one promised to be even more devastating.

Tatsuki poured them both some more water from the jug she had just filled, the water pearling off the sides. Ichigo thanked her silently and she rolled her eyes.

July had come and with that, a comfortable, dry warmth. The worst of it was coming in August, or so every meteorologist said, but for now the weather would be perfect.

Inoue and Shun had invited them to spend the weekend at Shun’s parents’ house as they were out travelling, to enjoy the summer with friends and shade, grass and barbeques, beers and fairy-lights strung between the trees. They had invited Rukia and Renji as well, but they had had to cancel in the last minute. Something with a threat to Soul Society and the world as a whole and Ichigo had found himself somewhat jealous.

Ishida had given him a short look, knowing exactly what he was thinking, but did not say anything because Ishida was a good person like that.

He and Inoue were currently hanging crisp, white sheets on the clothesline for it to dry. The wind had picked up, but not enough to cause an actual struggle between the laundry and its doers. 

Inoue was animatedly telling Ishida something, the other nodding, laughing from time to time. He was doing most of the hanging since Inoue was busy telling him about the latest development of her pregnancy. It was often she would put a hand on her belly that was slowly growing rounder and softer, almost unaware of it.

Shun would look away from Ichigo, even in the middle of their conversation, but Ichigo had learned that he meant no disrespect, he was just constantly awed with what he and Inoue were embarking on. 

He had pulled Ichigo aside after demonstration and told him with hushed and strained tones that Inoue was pregnant and neither of them knew what to do.

Ichigo, in all his infinite wisdom, had wanted to call Ishida. 

He had not, but he had taken Shun to the nearest bar, sat him down and bought them two beers. 

“Alright, so Inoue’s pregnant?”

Shun had just nodded.

His worry had been justified. Neither of them had finished their degree yet, they lived in an apartment even smaller than his and Ishida’s and they could barely make it through the month as it was. But both Shun and Inoue were romantics in the sense that nothing in this world was unwanted, only mistimed.

“We found out this morning. Shit, my family’s gonna crucify me. They already think it was irresponsible marrying before finishing school and now this?”

Shun had been panicking, that much was clear. Ichigo had pulled out his phone and called Ishida. Like he should had done immediately, his instincts were rarely wrong.

Ishida had been ten different shades of unimpressed when Ichigo called him, apparently managing to do so while he was in class. He had still been unimpressed when Ichigo told him what was happening. 

He had sighed, “Give me ten minutes.”

And had hung up. Ichigo had generally stopped telling Ishida where he was, because the bastard always knew anyways. So when he had showed up within ten minutes, March dripping from his hair and red tipping his ears, Ichigo had not been surprised as much as relieved. 

Ishida had sat down next to Ichigo, giving him a brief kiss on the top of his head as he did. Apparently, he had managed to worry him a bit after all to elicit that kind of response. Ishida rarely did affection in public. 

Shun had looked up, letting out a ragged breath, “Has Inoue told you anything?”

“No,” Ishida had said, pulling off his gloves, “I told her.”

“What?”

Ishida had taken a sip of Ichigo’s beer and leaned back, “So she’s pregnant. What’s the problem?”

And Shun had told him exactly what the problem was, oftentimes pausing to find the right words, probably feeling like he was facing trial. Ishida had watched him calmly, holding Ichigo’s hand and stealing a few mouthfuls of beer.

When Shun had finished, Ishida had leaned forward, looking him in the eye, “I’ll tell you what I told Inoue. You have three months to figure it out. If you don’t want it then, get an abortion, if you want it, keep it. But don’t bring it into a world where you doubt your commitment. You can be piss-poor living in a shed and still be the most loving, caring parents in the world. Your material situation doesn’t dictate your worth. I understand the repercussions, Inoue will have to put her education on hold and you’ll probably have to talk with your parents about helping you. It’s an unfortunate situation, but even a bad hand can be played well.”

Ichigo had given his hand a little squeeze and then Ishida had stood up, “Now, I have to get back to class. Tsukino-san can’t keep covering for me.”

When Ishida had left, Shun had been fidgeting with his cellphone and Ichigo and downed whatever was left of his beer, putting his hand on his shoulder.

“Call if you need anything.”

When May had rolled around, it had been pretty clear that the child was not going anywhere.

And now July was doing everything in its power to convince them that no evil remained in the world, and Shun was looking at Inoue like July was right. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Shun turned and looked to Ichigo.

Ichigo shook his head, “How’re your parents doing?”

“They’re surprisingly ecstatic. My mother nearly fainted when we told her.”

Ichigo nodded, “They okay with paying child-support?”

“My mother won’t hear of us raising our child in our apartment,” Shun ran a hand through his hair and sat back, “and my father is adamant about his firstborn grandchild not needing anything.”

Shun sat and smiled quietly for a while, “They’ve been great.”

Ichigo mirrored Shun, Tatsuki picking up the conversation about his parents looking for a suitable house, and turned to look at Ishida. He was wearing a dark-blue t-shirt and white shorts and shone like the sun, no, like the moon on a starless night. Ichigo smiled and took a sip of water. 

“So when’s the wedding?” Keigo asked loudly from under Mizuiro. The magazine had been placed over his eyes, but fell to the ground as Keigo turned his head. 

Ichigo turned to him, reluctant to let Ishida disappear from view, “Sorry?”

“I said, when’s the wedding?”

“What’s it to you?”

“So there is one?” Keigo sat up, almost pushing Mizuiro off his thighs. Mizuiro only saved himself from grass-stains because he grabbed a tight hold on the armrest. He swatted Keigo’s chest for the trouble.

“No.”

“Why not?” Tatsuki interfered now, pushing closer to the table, leaning on her elbows.

“What do you mean, why not?” Ichigo wanted Ishida there now so he could tell them they were being stupid. Chad sat up, looking at Ichigo, letting him know he had an ally.

“You’ve been together for,” Mizuiro counted on his fingers, “four years now, known each other for six.”

“Hating each other two out of six years,” Ichigo added.

“And yet here you are.” Tatsuki looked smug, head resting in her hand. Both Mizuiro and Keigo made a face that easily conveyed they were not letting this go either. Chad remained calm, but looked ready to placate whatever storm was brewing. Ichigo huffed with a minute amount of misplaced amusement and self-deprecation.

Ichigo sobered, frowned and sighed instead, “I asked and he said no.”

“What do you mean he said no?” Keigo sat up, Mizuiro following his movements this time.

“The exact turn of phrase was, “Don’t be stupid.”” Ichigo held up a finger to underline his point, crossed his arms and turned to look at Ishida. Even though he could not see his face, Ichigo knew Ishida was smiling, completely at ease. The line of his back and the angle of his shoulders told Ichigo Inoue had just said something he found amusing.

“Just as well, you wouldn’t get married anyway,” Shun took a sip of water as Ichigo snapped his head back. 

Tatsuki put her hand on Ichigo’s arm, feeling his muscles rolling under his skin. If Shun was not a father to be and had weak eyesight, Ichigo would have done something rash.

“I mean, gay marriage isn’t legal,”” he hurried to clarify and Ichigo felt the fire drain from his jaws and found himself forming a question instead, but never got around to asking before Mizuiro interrupted, nodding.

“Makes more sense. Ishida’s a pragmatist.”

“And you were rather drunk,” Chad added. 

Ichigo spread out his arms, “Et tu, Brute?”

Chad opted to shrug and Ichigo shook his head, because granted he had a point and even more so, staying mad at Chad was like denying Ishida; quite impossible. 

Ishida and Inoue were making their way back to the patio, Ishida carrying the empty basket, Inoue keeping a gentle hand on her belly. Her dress were fluttering between her legs, but she made her way over to Shun and sat down on his lap while Ishida carried the basket inside.

“My, you’re getting heavy. Maybe you should find another chair,” Shun remarked when she sat down, but only got a kick under the table from Tatsuki and a snicker from Keigo. Inoue just smiled and kissed his cheek, “You like it.”

Ishida came back out, a Popsicle in his hand and Ichigo already knew that the next 15 minutes were going to be challenging. He pulled out a chair and sat down, shuffling his feet onto Ichigo’s chair and poked him with his bare toes, giving him a mischievous smile, “How’re you doing?”

“I was doing infinitely better before you showing up with that thing.” He nodded at the Popsicle.

And in the quiet grin Ishida flashed, Ichigo wanted to believe it was a question of practicality and legality and not of growing dislike and doubt. The softness in Ishida’s eyes, the blue that still took the heaven’s breath away in envy, had him return the grin.

The others tried to look away, seemingly understanding that even though they were in public, this moment was private.

Because even though there had been a shift in their relationship at Inoue’s wedding, it did not feel as if they had moved away from each other, nor had they moved closer. They had moved to a juxtaposition, one where Ichigo found himself wondering what Ishida thought and eventually deciding against knowing, and Ishida regarding Ichigo with a strange set of eyes, eyes that shone with bemusement and with distance.

They had moved neither farther nor closer, but they had moved. Enough for Ichigo to be counting these, their moments of shared mirth or intimacy – almost like a miser counting his coins. 

Their friends did not mention it again. When the sun finally, reluctantly, left the sky to the moon and they got the coals orange and white, their fingers were intertwined and warm together. They ate the shish kebab and drank the lukewarm box-wine as if their world was not getting more and more fragile with every breath.

 

Ishida had been oddly quiet the entire walk home. He had not said a word about any of today’s headlines, commented on a piece of clothing he liked or asked if they needed any groceries. In fact, Ishida had kept his eyes as far off the outside world as he possibly could, remaining lost in his own headspace. 

Usually, Ishida would have said something, anything, about the cityscape around them, if anything because he liked making quips and witty observations on other’s expense. 

But today, he had taken Ichigo’s hand like he could have walked on regardless, like he had forgotten it was an option, a duty really, and had otherwise kept quiet and disinterested. 

When they got home, Ishida opened their balcony and sat himself outside. Something in the September air, the pink, creamy and purple hues to the sky and the way his hair moved in the quiet breeze told Ichigo not to disturb him, not to join him, not to impose.

So Ichigo called his family for the weekly check-in he had been required to perform. Ishida had even been with him home last time he visited, his father nearly bursting with excitement when Ichigo had told him. It had been wonderful, being together with his family and not thinking about Ishida, and having him within arm’s reach had been everything Ichigo had imagined it would be.

Karin and Yuzu both were doing well in school, Karin’s boyfriend had proved to be a calm, even-tempered young man with blue eyes and steady hands. Yuzu had threatened Isshin with taking the veil if he kept insinuating it was okay for her to bring home somebody too, whatever gender they might have. Ichigo could not help but feeling a little proud as well as feeling a little sorry for Isshin and Yuzu both.

Isshin himself was thriving, the clinic doing well as always. He had taken up cooking more and more since Yuzu had begun attending drawing-lessons. The food was still subpar, but he promised next time he and Ishida came by, they would not be able to taste the difference. Ichigo smiled and promised it would be soon. 

Without putting the phone down, Ichigo began slicing up the radishes and the fish, started boiling water and cooking the noodles, chopping the leaks and cabbage. His father was telling him about the supper he was going to make this evening, Karin’s boyfriend and his parents were coming over and despite Yuzu’s offers, Isshin had been adamant about doing the cooking.

“The dress rehearsal, no?” he laughed and Ichigo chuckled in response, though it died out quickly. 

Ishida was still sitting motionless and monumental on the balcony. 

While vegetables and noodles were mixing and flavoring each other, Ichigo leaned back on the counter, hung up the phone, with promises of coming and calling again soon, and crossed his arms. 

The apartment was eerily quiet. Soulless. Even though the door was open, it still felt like they were separated and parted by Ishida’s design. And somehow this hurt Ichigo more than he would ever like to admit to. He was used to Ishida shutting him out at times and when his eyes would darken with mistrust, Ichigo found the air heavy and fat, too dense to breathe. 

There was something much like emptiness in the air and it made his stomach drop because Ishida had never retracted this far back. Ichigo had never been a particularly patient individual, but sitting around doing nothing out of compulsion rather than choice was stifling. 

He picked up a piece of radish and chewed it absentmindedly. Maybe getting married was not something they should be doing in the first place. Ichigo had to admit he had been swept up in the menagerie and maybe that had inspired the rather wistful thinking, the almost soppy romanticism. 

He dared looking out at Ishida again, who had yet to speak to him and sighed.

It had felt right, though. When he had imagined them belonging to the end of the Earth he had only felt a strange sort of warmth, had felt happy. 

The food was about ready and he poured it into two bowls, grabbed two pairs of chopsticks and went outside. His heart was picking up force and momentum with every step, preparing itself for something, anything, everything.

Ishida wordlessly accepted the food and began eating it without fervor. Ichigo took the other chair and watched the last strains of the sunset caressing the sky. September had yet to grow cold and unwelcoming, the leaves were still an emerald-shade of green and the days still long. Mosquitoes were skirting around the bleach-white lights and streetlamps. The world was quiet or maybe they had become so accustomed to the constant sound of cars and people and life that they could not hear it anymore.

Ichigo shot Ishida glances, admired the soft light on his face, the soft kiss of sundown on his skin, watched for the way he almost did not eat his food, lost to whatever was on his mind.

It could not be his father. He had been by not two weeks ago and had been in excellent health. Inoue was doing fine, seven months along, very beautiful and positively blooming. He had spoken with Chad and Tatsuki yesterday, both doing great. Keigo and Mizuiro had been over three days ago also well and in good spirits. And he saw Shun every day in class who had told him how Inoue was and how he himself was holding up. Whatever alternative was left was out of his grasp.

He finished quickly, but did not bother with putting the bowl back inside, he did not feel like standing up. He felt like talking to Ishida, felt like listening to him but the other still looked both pensive and confused. If Ichigo did not know better, he would think Ishida was pouring over Schrodinger’s Cat or the Penrose Steps. But Ichigo knew better. He knew Ishida only ever looked like that when he was contemplating something personal and possibly unpleasant. And the chills that went down his spine, spiders and bad omens, had him clenching his jaw.

Ichigo would be lying if he said his heart did not stutter then, he took a deep breath and rose from the chair. It suddenly felt like October had arrived. 

It was still another hour before Ishida came back inside from the balcony. 

Ichigo had decided on studying. He had far too many pages to read for the next class and he might as well make an effort or die trying. The pages blurred away between his fingers, anesthetics somehow really speaking to the dull set of his mind and slow churning of his thoughts. He sighed and flipped the page. 

He felt a cold hand on his shoulder. “Ichigo, can we talk?”

Ichigo immediately wanted to say no, foreboding wanting to shut him down and his stomach plummeting to his feet. Instead, he nodded and closed his book, putting his arms up on the table, a tiny wall between him and Ishida, “Sure. What’s eating at you?”

He sounded cheerful and carefree. If Ichigo had not been set on medicine, he should have tried acting.

Ishida looked him in the eyes and a tiny smile was playing at the corners of his mouth. Ichigo felt his shoulders relax and his heart slow down.

Ishida folded his hands, twisting them ever so slightly.

“When I woke today, there was something off. I mean, everything seemed the same, was the same. Except I wasn’t. It’s been bothering me all day, because I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what was wrong with me. And then I realized, I love you.” Ishida licked his lips, his teeth quickly replacing his tongue. 

Ichigo frowned, but not angrily so.

“I realized, I love you. Period. No buts, no afterthoughts,” he said softly. His eyes quivering, like a child in the snow. He bit his finger, swallowing.

“Ishida, I –“

“I don’t care anymore.” Ishida rushed and met his eyes. “I’ve over it.”

In that moment Ichigo felt his heart break and mend all at once, felt it regrow and most importantly he felt the world shift. And Ishida felt it too, because he was looking at him with the same sort of unguarded and complete nakedness like he used to do, before the Soul Bond. 

Ishida stood and rushed to Ichigo, a freezing man settling as close as he could to the fire, the fire burning brighter and warmer than ever before.

And Ichigo felt something burn behind eyes, felt something akin to molten silver line them brightly. But most importantly he felt Ishida kiss the fire and kept it at bay, felt it softly replaced with frost flowers and snowdrops.

Ichigo swallowed and felt a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. He pulled Ishida onto his lap, felt him rest his arms on his shoulders while Ichigo put his own around his waist, holding tight. Ishida whispered into his hair, his mouth drawing words onto Ichigo’s scalp. 

It was strange how much lighter he felt, how completely unearthly it was. 

Ishida rested his forehead on Ichigo’s and looked into his eyes, “I missed you.”

And even though they had lived together for the past two years, Ichigo knew what he meant. He nodded, “Me too.”

It was painful, like looking into the sun, seeing fresh snow, a couple separated by death, but Ichigo could for the life of him not look away now that he could finally see it again. Ishida’s eyes were shining with brilliant blue, every hue, every shade possible and with every facet of his thoughts visible again. It was like light to a blind man and Ichigo could not help but stroking Ishida’s face with careful fingers.

What was even worse was to know that what they had had for the past three years had been but a shadow of what they had had before. It was such a stark contrast. The change was miniscule, yet it was those pebbles that released the landslide. And now with the dust settling and the rubble crunching under their bare feet, Ichigo felt himself breathing without restrictions, felt Ishida look at him without reservations and felt the ground Earth turn around them without hesitation.

Ishida lifted his head, brushing a thumb across his cheek, “I love you.” If those words had a designated melody, it was this. They had passed it between each other the past years, but for the first time, it sounded light and pure, not drenched in necessity or wrapped in conditions.

And then Ichigo’s eyes finally spilled with liquid-hot metal running down his cheeks, but Ishida thumbed them away without judgment, without jeer. They sat there until the hands melted from the clock face and the seconds but swirled into the air. Then they rose, remaining close and ensnared, walking without grace. 

The bowls were still outside the next day, the dew pooling in the bottom, reflecting the sunrise.

 

“Sure you don’t wanna marry me?” Ichigo asked one frozen day in December, Christmas lights strung between the trees and the lake iced over. Blue and white crawling through the landscape.

“Don’t be stupid,” Ishida said, this time with a melody reserved for another three words. 

Ichigo took his hand and wove their fingers together, guiding them into his pocket for safekeeping, “You sure?”

Ishida just nodded and squeezed his hand and Ichigo could not help the shit-eating grin spreading on his face.

“Even though it’ll be years before we can set a date,” Ishida scoffed and plucked a Senbei out of the package Ichigo was holding. He ate it with quiet content as Ichigo leaned in to lick a stubborn crumb from the side of his mouth.

“That’s disgusting,” Ishida complained, but did not even try to put his heart into it.

Ichigo only kept the grin on his face. He was a happy man.


End file.
